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cevenths · 3 months ago

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cagefighter!logan howlett x journalist!reader

extras: inspired by ‘young lust’ by pink floyd and this post by @heart--of--gold; descriptions of blood and fighting; no use of y/n

It was all so stereotypical; rugged, sleazy, abrasive. This horribly hidden corner of the bar must only garner bodies from the slurred hopefuls that were whispered over the lips of beers, that much you figured as you bought a drink, and one happened to reach the curious ears of your friend two nights prior.

Enticing ruby that slid intimately down bruised skin lured your eyes to the metal that rattled with each successful push, each fist sluggish with drink. The lousy lightbulbs, flickering to show off the cinema-like drama with broken timing, mirrored the hesitant and prudish blinks—though there weren’t many, as the irises remained fixated on the two regardless—of only a few of those that stood a good distance from the macabre stage. His limbs held an assured blasé that showed all the more when he cocked a hip, placed a hand to the fencing, the other leading a cigar to his lips; his opponent was already making the shameful way out.

Smoke curled and teased the glint of silver that stuck to his chest, though there was no need to read what was pressed into the tag when his name was spit from gaps in teeth stained with liquor. He was all anyone talked about since he stepped atop the stage with a scowl already on his lips, gasps having echoed rumors that escaped from a bar across town. Such a story would look perfect in your typography.

Your glass tickled the skin of your palm, ice meeting your teeth as you took a sip. Wherever your company went, whether to ease another drink out of the bartender or to wait in a line for the restroom, you could brush it off as a reason to finally ease out of your seat, the leather sticking to your clothing. You held your camera at your side, footfall greedily yet cautiously strung towards the heavy crowd that roared at the announcement of the next fighter.

The lighting was harsh—it could be thrilling, you thought, striking—and in more ways than one—on a yellowed page. It gave a slight strain in your eyes as they kept shifting below it but above your figure, which found its way to the front, practically kissing the fencing. It accented the lilac that curled at his shoulder blade, the curves of his arms, the droplets of blood that thickened slightly in the hair as they drew nearer to his hands—it was impossible to tell whether they were his from the absence of any sort of cut adorning his body.

The scene in the lens was good: he was posed in the center, the back of his opponent serving as foreground, more of a block, a shadow to direct the gaze. His tongue prodded at his cheek, head tilted almost in a mockery towards the other man, as if he had only developed a strain that needed to crack. Even if they moved, it wouldn’t matter too much—the illusion of their brawl would be better with a captured blurred fist, anyhow. You pressed a finger down before they could nonetheless, the flash brightening his skin.

Elbows knocked into your forearms as a great rumble of drunken cheers rose from the crowd; you angled your camera closer to your chest, narrowing your eyes at the drinks that threatened to spill from glasses raised high. Turning your attention back to the scene in front of you, you watched as a fist met the plane of his stomach—once, then twice, a groan crawling low from his throat and a wince leaving yours. There was a mark on his cheek and blood gathering at his nose.

His fault was shortlived; with teeth bared and a swipe of the back of his hand at his cupid’s bow, the other man hadn’t even so much as let in a inhale before his head met the fencing with a resounding shake, blood a faux lipstick smudged against his now slacked mouth and chipped front tooth. A triumphant close, a before-and-after shot. Your hands were raised before you could even fully register the camera at your eye; a second photo wouldn’t hurt.

Your friend had sat down next to you moments after you idled back to the bar. You fished out a pen and an old receipt from your pocket, flattening it out with a smooth of your palm. They caught you up on whatever happened on the other side, nudged your shoulder as you wrote whatever sounded good, teased about possible titles, headlines, photo compositions when you showed them the two you had taken—the first had the hazel of his eyes directly in line with whomever chose to look at them.

Just as others were dragging themselves to the door, they told you they had to say goodbye to someone and left your side once more, promising to be back in a few minutes.

A chair a few feet over scraped against the floor not long after. Your hand was busy running over the creases of the receipt back in your pocket as you turned your head to the noise, eyes choosing to follow the flame that sparked from his lighter rather than meet his own.

“D’you want that signed, or somethin’?” He gestured to the photo of him with a jut of his chin, the pen next to it.

It didn’t matter whether he was being serious or not; you slid the photo without a second thought across the counter regardless, eyeing his hand as his fingertips delicately touched the edges before it could reach one of many sticky rings sunken into the wood.

He placed an elbow atop the counter, cigar between his pointer and middle, and blew the smoke away from where he held the photo in front of him with the other hand, brows furrowed, loose strands of hair at his forehead still thin with sweat.

He nodded, once, his eyebrow raising just for a second. “You got my good side,” he muttered, and took another slow drag, this time meeting your eyes as he parted his lips, smoke tracing the scruff at his jaw and cheekbones.

You hummed in acknowledgment, taking the time to scan his face, which, even under the dim lighting, was void of any evidence of a prior fight.

“That the other one?”

You picked up the one he was referring to, glancing at how it developed as a spontaneous shot as you reached over to replace it with the first.

Smoke blew from his nostrils in something of a laugh, the corners of his lips pulling in a sly smile. His eyes briefly caught yours once more before he slid the photo back.

“Which one d’you like more?” he asked after a moment, tilting his head to fully look at where you sat. This lighting gave warmer accents down his face—an admittedly pretty change from earlier—the slope of his nose and the wrinkles at the bridge as he awaited your answer.

There was now a relative quiet in the bar, a few drowsy conversations mumbled someplace behind the two of you, and it only seemed to crescendo when you shrugged, leaning an elbow on the counter to rest your cheek in your palm. “They’re both good.”

He pursed his lips, watching as you took the two photos and slid them into the pocket of your jacket. After another drag of his cigar he spoke: “I think ‘s only fair I get a picture of you.”

You were getting up when he said so, and caught the way he nodded at your camera in your other hand, placing the cigar in between his lips to get a hold of it with both of his own as, much to your own amusement and curiosity at his words, you obliged.

With the camera already at his eye, he squinted the other overdramatically as he stood, taking a step towards you.

You didn’t really care if the lighting was slightly shittier where you sat. He clearly didn’t as he muttered a ‘say cheese’, a sarcastic lilt to his voice, the flash a white spark—had it really been that bright?—before he lowered the camera, watching as the photo crept out with a soft hum.

You tried to sneak a glance at how it developed as he handed you back your camera—it was impossibly warm where his calloused touch was now replaced with yours—but he held the photo so it was parallel to your face, the hazel of his eyes dragging from one to the other, from the muse to the art, and back again.

They finally landed on yours as he pursed his lips for one more drag, smoke lacing his ask.

“Mind signin’ it?”

#my works #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett fic #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett x you #logan howlett fanfic #logan howlett blurb #logan howlett drabble #wolverine x reader #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine fic #wolverine x y/n #wolverine x you #wolverine fanfic #wolverine blurb #wolverine drabble

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sexypinkon · 1 year ago

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Writing about the latest body of work by Wendy Nanan demanded the time to sit with all that she endeavoured to discuss. Her dioramas create bold and ironic statements about black stereotyping. Post slavery the questions persist, and the answers are still deafening in their silence. Some may even be akin to our Jouvert Carnival Minstrels, black people wearing whiteface interpreting white people in black face as they sing Yankee songs of a bygone era. Is this progressive, oppressive or something in between?

Miss Nanan asks, how have we stayed here? Why do we continue to ape our colonial past and as a subtext, why has it stuck so mercilessly to black people?

There are no Indian, Chinese or Syrian dolls to trot out and hawk to a tourist market among this collection.

Miss Nanan's pieces feature names like, Searching for La Belle Creole, Meanwhile, somewhere down in Pt.Cumana and Let me take you to the Mountaintop. They show us how much the cliche of the female black body has endured. She also delves into the present with Did you get the Pepper Spray, a topical conversation about violent crime and safety debated in the Parliament of Trinidad and Tobago as recently as the Firearms (Amendment)

Act No.7 of 2021) In Pepper Spray, two uniformed young girls traverse the tenuous divide, Hansel and Gretel style walking to school. These are not the souvenir dolls of old, these are recently made ones in the same ilk, testing the waters of the female, black body today.

Creating props and settling the viewer inside the narrow yet semi-deep dollhouse spaces slows the viewer down to being with their own thoughts.

In a world where we are deliberately distracted to keep us from feeling disquiet, Miss Nanan's Les Marchandes in the City is an example of that fracture. You can walk from side to side peeking in at these beautifully styled, now problematic creole toys.

These dolls, collected for their nostalgia, are asked to do so much. Can they absolve us of the past? Wearing doyettes and head ties, their faces gaze vacantly out at us and have lulled many children to sleep with their gentle womanliness. Yet, can we forget?

Miss Nanan's Caribbean Madonna's recalls some of her past works in papier mache, such as the dangling Shiva and pink half shell. However here, within the familiar there stands the disquiet. This piece harks back to the famous engraved etching of 1800, The Voyage of the Sable Venus by Thomas Stothard (British, 1755-1834) where the black female body is romanticized, eroticized, fetishized and most of all neutralized. She is always an automaton to the viewer.

Miss Nanan goes on to question these experiences with The Help. A Caucasian child pulling on the apron of the Mammy figure in the ideal 1950's kitchen. Mammy is forever unbalanced as a hot drink - never for her - threatens to soil her uniform, keeping her in her place.

Even Let me take you to the Mountaintop, an attempt at a reprieve to Martin Luther King's 1963 speech on Capitol Hill Washington D.C. finds no purchase.There is no solace from servitude and disrespect here. Our madras coiffe and douillette creole wearing trio are standing precipitously in a cake topping stance above the ziggurat-like organic shape. Their moment of glory, not assured.

The Land of the Photo-op, the most DIY and flattened, non diorama work is the most child-like of her portrayals. The technique speaks appropriately to pastiche-centric innocence that tourists still seek out. Under the cutout symbolic sun and wonky Trinidad and Tobago lettering, this doll selling sea shells and chac chac a la Tourist Anne appears like another Black Madonna, La Divina Pastora. This time, the revered effigy that is displayed in Siparia, Trinidad every year. She is frozen in time. We may not know why we worship, yet we do.

Miss Nanan deftly tackles as much of the problematic incantations of past and present as she can. This is brave, necessary work and for those who missed this show, much was lost by your absence. Miss Nanan's Art reminds us that constant servitude is all that is required of the black female body. No matter the struggle or accolade the female black body presents, she is always a nicely dressed doll staring out at a future designed to please others.

#sexypink reviews Wendy Nanan's show #sexypink/Wendy Nanan #Sexypink/Medulla Gallery #sexypink/reviews #tumblr/Wendy Nanan #tumblr/west indian dolls #tumblr/tourist gifts #post colonial identity #Caracas #Cuba #Grenada #Santo Domingo #St.Vincent

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dearestones · 2 years ago

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Comfortable on the Other Side (Brawler Focused Oneshot)

Warnings: Drug mentions.

@princeasimdiya12 Request: Then based on akudama drive, can you write a oneshot featuring Brawler developing a reading hobby or something cultured please? The idea is that he's interested in something educational that defies his dumb muscle stereotype. What do you think?

“Look, that stupid oaf isn’t even here.” Doctor scoffed, the familiar sneer once again resting on her pretty pink lips, the sweet coral hues contrasting with the vitriol present in her expression. She carefully balanced a scalpel on her index finger before flipping it into the air twice before making it land in the palm of her well manicured hands. “You and I both know that he’s almost too stupid to function.”

Courier, who up until that point had been comfortably leaning against his motorcycle, shook his head. Between two slender fingers, a cigarette dangled, a small plume of smoke rising to the sky. “I don’t care.” His eyes narrowed at Doctor’s girlish giggle. “Hurt him all you like, but you can’t kill him.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “I didn’t say that I was going to kill him. If I was, he would have dropped dead by now.”

Courier sent her a pointed look.

The older woman sighed before turning away from him. Whatever entertainment that she sought from Courier had probably disappeared.

“Fine. I’ll leave him alone. It’s just as well—” She cast a glance behind her, only to wince at what she saw. “—he’s coming here and I don’t want to breathe in the same air as him.”

She stalked off, her heeled boots clacking on the pavement. True to his stoic nature, Courier didn’t see her off. Instead, he focused on the night sky and waited a moment before raising his head in silent greeting at his newest companion.

Like Doctor, Brawler didn’t disguise the weight of his footsteps. He walked wherever he wanted, however he wanted. Even if he was loud and had the potential to disrupt stealth missions, Courier could almost respect the confidence that Brawler had. After all, it was probably both recklessness and confidence in himself that made Brawler into the formidable fighter that he was today.

“Is she gone?”

“You should already know.” Courier flicked a few ashes off his cigarette. He then gestured towards the shadows in the distance, the lights from the warehouse still somewhat dim despite their proximity. “You’ve been listening in the shadows for a while.”

Brawler laughed a bit before he settled next to Courier. Together, the two men sat in relatively calm silence. Over time, however, Brawler quickly tired of standing still and began doing push ups on the ground. Courier, ever the silent observer, counted repetitions until Brawler had reached a little past two hundred before speaking again.

“Don’t you care? About what she said?” Courier kept his eyes steadily forward, careful not to look at Brawler who was looking up at him while still performing his exercise.

Brawler pushed through another five push ups before jumping to his feet. “Nah, man. Crap like that ain’t got no place in my head. Best to leave her alone.” The dreadlocked man thought for a moment before saying, “Don’t you keep to yourself? It’s not like you to be interested.”

“I’m not. It would be a waste if we lost our only medic before any of us could benefit from the heist.”

Brawler eyed Courier. This time, the silence between the two of them was layered with tension, but Courier would rather stew in awkwardness before even suggesting that he was feeling otherwise.

Finally, Brawler said, “Sure. Whatever you say.”

In thanks, or because Courier honestly didn’t know if he wanted to continue the conversation or end it, he pulled out his pack of cigarettes, shook it until a cigarette stuck out, and gestured for Brawler to take one. Courier hoped that Brawler wouldn’t make a big deal out of it, and to his credit, Brawler didn’t act too surprised.

However, that didn’t stop Brawler from rejecting Courier’s proffered gift.

With a booming laugh, Brawler said, “Carcinogens aren’t exactly something that I would recommend for building up muscle mass.”

Courier choked.

Try as the younger Akudama might, he couldn’t help but feel his surprise skyrocket at alarming speed. Carcinogen wasn’t a term that he thought Brawler would know. Normally, he wasn’t one to judge on appearances alone (in his business, Courier knew better than to take deals on face value alone), but Brawler knowing what a carcinogen was—even going as far as to know the harmful benefits of such—could not be reconciled with what little Courier knew of the older man.

Courier was almost curious as to how much his companion actually knew about the world.

Before, Courier could say anything, however, Brawler beat him to the punch.

Not literally this time.

“Surprised, huh?” Brawler chuckled to himself before he finally lay on the ground, one of his arms outstretched and reaching for the stars. “Everybody seems to be when…” Brawler coughed, interrupting himself. “I mean, look at me. You can’t exactly go around looking like this without some knowledge of the human body!”

A beat.

“I mean, there are people out there who could get by with steroids and good genetics, but I’m usually short on money.”

Courier heaved a sigh, not sure if what he was feeling was intrigue or exasperation that his night was getting weirder and weirder.

“You’re a bodybuilder?”

“Pfft… bodybuilders starve their bodies until they become weak.” Brawler practically vibrated on the ground as he laughed giddily to himself. “I did meet one, though, back when I was a kid. I accidentally knocked him over and he went toppling like a stack of blocks!” Another bout of laughter.

Did Courier really give up the comforting presence of Doctor just to punish himself with Brawler’s idiocy?

“But you know what’s even funnier than bodybuilders thinking that they can take me on?”

Was Courier that curious?

“What?”

Damn, he was.

“I used to be in medical school.”

Thank whatever deity was out there because Courier nearly inhaled his cigarette while taking a drag. Unfortunately, Brawler’s keen eyes observed Courier’s fumble, which was made only apparent by the laughter that practically ripped Brawler apart from the inside.

It was just too hilarious watching Courier lose his composure.

Finally, Brawler quieted.

“Orthopedic surgeon if you can believe it.” Brawler looked at the stars, something like yearning in his eyes. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t the best student, but I had a lot of promise back then. Peers looked up to me, teachers respected me. My grandfather,” and here, Courier could have sworn that he heard Brawler’s voice catch, “he believed in me.”

Courier didn’t say anything. What could he possibly say? He had always known poverty. With the way Brawler was speaking, Brawler had lived a life that Courier could have only dreamed of.

“But, ya know… Small fry like me back then got caught up in some shady shit. Got caught up in drugs, experimentation on the human body… I mean, don’t you think it’s weird that Doctor’s poisons don’t work on me?” Brawler sighed, not really concerned that none of his “coworkers” seemed to care about his well-being. “I may not have graduated, but you would not believe how many times she broke the Hippocratic Oath. Personally, I don’t care, but it makes my skin crawl. She seems like the type of person to commit malpractice for the fun of it.”

Brawler then sprung up to his feet, the loud thump his body made causing Courier to nearly stumble over himself.

“I must say though, her research papers from back when she was a grad student were rather stellar. Honestly, I stand by my opinion, she should have stayed in academia instead of practicing.”

This time, Courier casually let the cigarette fall to the wayside.

It was much easier to let go and let things happen instead of contemplating the fact that Brawler had studied to become a doctor and had actually reviewed some of Doctor’s research articles.

“Anyway, I gotta help out my newest disciple. Careful with those carcinogens, brother!”

If you want to donate a Ko-Fi, feel free https://ko-fi.com/devintrinidad.

AKUDAMA DRIVE MASTERLIST

#akudama drive #akudama drive brawler #akudama brawler #akudama drive doctor #akudama doctor #akudama drive courier #akudama courier #dearestones #devintrinidad #akudama drive fic #akudama drive fanfic #akudama drive fanfiction

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 years ago

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pause, m | myg | 2

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Life is like a cassette tape. It seems like it’s constantly repeating, flipped from side A to side B, and the songs can’t be skipped. You can only pause, rewind, fast forward, play after you’ve already heard the song. After you’ve already lived it. All Min Yoongi knows is his own tape, until it smashes right at his feet, and then he has to learn to dance to a different beat.

warnings: rated M (18+) - please be warned this story has a physically and verbally abusive relationship; language; emotional manipulation; gender stereotyping; non-idol!AU; music producer!Yoongi x dancing fanatic!reader

rated M because I know how sensitive a topic domestic abuse is.

The music reader listens to is inspired by Frederic, specifically their songs ‘oodloop’, ‘OWARASE NIGHT’, and ‘Kanashii Ureshii’ and you can look up the MVs on YT. They have subs, yes the lyrics inspired certain scenes, no I have no idea what is going on, and I don’t know why they’re dancing like that lol

–

She slapped him across the face.

You froze.

The cassette smashed.

“I hate you, Min Yoongi!”

She shouted it so loud that you heard it over your music. Your finger instinctively went to your earbud and tapped it, pausing the sound. You couldn’t believe your eyes. What had this guy done? What had this guy done to be yelled at like that the second he stepped off the night train to stand in front of his girlfriend?

“Useless piece of trash, always fucking late!”

Slapping him over and over, so loud because the train station was completely empty except for you and these two, yelling obscenities and the guy was just standing there, taking it, saying, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry for what? Why did she keep hitting him? Why? Stop it. Stop hitting him.

“Such a fucking waste of life, I can’t believe I have to be your girlfriend!”

Stop it.

“No one will ever fucking love you, you shithead, so I’m stuck with your stupid self!”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

Mumbles. Fear.

Stop it!

“You think anyone will ever do anything for you the way I do? I’m all you have!”

Within two seconds, you crossed the space between you and them.

You smacked her hand away from him.

Pause.

You hesitated to press play. Standing in front of this random guy you didn’t even know, fury in your chest so strong that you forgot you were a stranger, glaring at this scowling, rage-filled woman with vehement disdain. You had no idea what the fuck was going on, you had no idea why he was being slapped so much, you had no idea why this woman was so angry and maybe there were very good reasons for it all, but somehow.

Somehow you didn’t think so.

Play.

“Stop it. He said he was sorry,” you barked, narrowing your eyes.

Her pretty face twisted with rage. “Who the fuck is this bitch, Yoongi? A whore you picked up?”

“I… I don’t know her…” the man behind you rasped, trying to move around you, but you kept yourself between the two, shouldering your backpack.

“I don’t know him. I just know you shouldn’t be hitting someone like that.”

The woman snapped at you, rising to her full height, challenging you. “This isn’t any of your fucking business. This is between me and him and doesn’t concern outsiders. Tell her, Yoongi.”

But you didn’t let Yoongi tell you, cutting him off as he tried to speak.

“This isn’t my business, but I’ve seen enough examples to be able to spot domestic violence when I see it,” you growled.

The woman scoffed, flipping her hair. “Domestic violence,” she snorted. “He’s a man. It’s not like I hit him that hard. I’m a woman.”

You curled your hands into fists.

“You stupid bully.”

The woman looked taken aback. “What?”

“I said, you’re a stupid fucking bully,” you snarled, taking a step forward and forcing her to take one back. “You think this is nothing, until you have children and your children have to watch this shit over and over, every night, thinking it’s right, thinking it’s the way it should be, but you’re fucking wrong, because this is not a relationship, this is not love, this is fucking bullying and you are a stupid, dumb bully who can’t admit you have an inferiority complex and your kids will spend years in fucking therapy wondering why they don’t understand how to make relationships with other human beings because their mom was a terrible fucking example, so do me a fucking favor and get the fuck out of here and leave this guy alone, because you are an absolute sewage of a human being.”

She gawked at you, slack-jawed, probably never been talked to in such a forceful manner before, but you didn’t care, because you didn’t spend years in therapy to watch this shit happen right in front of your face.

Never in your entire life had you ever been so angry at a stranger before.

The woman seemed to gather her bearings and spat at the floor, staining the concrete with her spit. You raised your eyebrows, unintimated. She stamped her foot at your lack of reaction, pointing accusingly at Yoongi behind you.

“Don’t you ever think about coming back home. I’m burning all your shit.”

She turned her heel and stomped away.

You almost expected Yoongi to run after her, but he didn’t. He just stood behind you and breathed laboriously. You suddenly realized that you might have done something mildly insane. She said she was going to burn all his shit.

“Hmph,” you heard the mumble behind you. “All I had was clothes anyway.”

You turned around. He wasn’t looking at you. His black hair was all over his face, and his face mask was half-pulled down, revealing his red cheeks. You looked away quickly, taking a step back.

“Are you… okay?” you asked quietly.

You saw his eyes shift around. He didn’t actually respond. Just shrugged.

You bit your lip.

Silence.

“There… are no more trains,” the Yoongi guy whispered.

“Y… Yeah.”

Silence.

The lights above you were harsh, casting large shadows all over the concrete. Nothing but the sounds of the city and the darkness above, the moon witnessing it all.

He turned away from you, walking over towards the benches. Walking away. The crumpled paper of a man, shrinking as he took one step, then another, farther and farther away from you, and you opened your mouth to shout after that black back, extending your hand in the air.

“H-Hey!”

Pause.

He turned his head around to look at you with broken and lonely eyes.

“If you want… I have a couch and some blankets.” You swallowed, knowing how crazy it was. “Because… You shouldn’t go back. I…” Don’t want you to end up like my dad. “Even if it’s one night.”

I want to break this cycle.

“Just one.” You lowered your hand, holding up one finger. “One.”

Yoongi didn’t say anything.

Only turned around wordlessly and walked back to you, stopping in front of you. Saying nothing.

He didn’t say anything the entire walk.

Didn’t say anything as you opened the door and gestured him inside. Showed him the couch, got him the blankets. Asked him if he wanted anything else. He shook his head instead of talking. You ran to your room and got him a spare pillow. Held it out to him. He took it silently. Ran off again and got a new toothbrush from your stash of toothbrushes. An unopened travel toothpaste. Asked him if he wanted anything to eat. A glass of water. He shook his head.

Showed him the bathroom. A shower?

Shake, shake.

Okay.

You told him if he was cold to let you know. You would find another blanket.

Yoongi said nothing.

You nodded and turned away, letting him be. It was hard to look at him. You didn’t want him to think you pitied him or anything. But he reminded you too much of your dad if you stared at him too long. You had gotten him everything you could think of and let him know that if he needed anything to tell you.

You went to your bedroom and let out a big sigh.

No dance party tonight.

You went to your computer and opened Spotify. Put your headphones on and listened to the music, letting it carry you away. Before you knew it, one song flowed into another. You slowly began to bounce your head to the music, the cheerful, quirky beats making you smile, your hands moving on their own, lip-syncing the lyrics.

A happy tune with sad lyrics, but it made you smile at the same.

You failed to notice Yoongi appear at your door, holding his phone. He needed a charger. Did you have one? And then he saw the back of your head, bouncing along, headphones on.

He retreated back to your living room, clutching his phone. Decided to go to sleep instead.

Hours later, you finally decided to sleep, placing your headphones down. Was Yoongi sleeping? You padded over to the dark living room, seeing a bundled form on your couch. His coat was over the blanket. His head was under the blanket. Was he cold? You went back to your room and collected a pink knit one. Walked back to the living room and moved his jacket aside onto the armchair, putting the extra blanket on top of him.

His phone was on your coffee table, flashing. It was low on battery.

You checked if it was Android or iPhone. Android. Good, because you didn’t have a lightning cable, although you would have gone to the twenty-four-hour convenience store nearby to get one if he did have an iPhone. Back to your room. Got a charger and struggled to find an outlet in the dark. You’d think you would know where your own outlets were, but apparently you were too sleepy to remember. You felt around in the dark and poked at an outlet, stabbing the wall repeatedly before plugging it in. Maybe you should have turned a light on, sheesh.

You snaked the cable around and plugged his phone in. It vibrated approvingly and you gave it a thumbs up, even though it was an inanimate object.

Let’s just say living alone made you weird.

You let out an exhale and wandered off to brush your teeth.

Not noticing Yoongi had woken up and been watching your struggle. Saying nothing.

Pause.

Fast forward.

Morning.

You yawned and nearly jumped when you saw the unmoving pink blob on your couch. Oh, right. You were surprised he wasn’t awake, but you shrugged. The blankets were over his head, blocking out the sun. You tried to stay quiet, opening your fridge, staring at the contents.

Staring at it with a million question marks.

You had… kimchi. Eggs. Cheese. Definitely expired take-out. You took that out and dumped it in the trash can, grimacing at it. A stranger didn’t need to see how disgusting that was. You went back to your fridge. Um. It wasn’t that you couldn’t cook, it was that you didn’t have jack shit. And if you cooked on the stove, you would definitely wake up Yoongi.

Your stomach screamed in rage.

Feed me!

Ah, well. Sorry Yoongi. You settled on a kimchi-egg-cheese pancake thing. Was it going to be good? Sure. Was it not the most elegant thing in the world? Maybe. What can you do?

You began to chop the kimchi.

Yoongi turned over on the couch, groaning. He heard the sizzle of the pan. Smelled spice. Eggs. The world was unfamiliar. No one was yelling at him to get up. No one was doing the blankets off of him and calling him a lazy pig.

"Motherfuc–!"

A female voice cursed in a loud whisper. You cut yourself off, muttering.

"Stupid oil, ugh."

Not his girlfriend.

Slowly, Yoongi pulled the blankets off his head. An unfamiliar scent, different laundry detergent than he was used to. The sofa smelled different too, like vanilla with a hint of stale popcorn. Probably from being dropped in the cushions and forgotten about until months later.

His stomach growled.

The smell of the food enticed him. He got up, seeing you at the stove, wearing black pajamas with the sleeves rolled to your elbows, and a cream scrunchie holding your hair up. You made a face at the pan and scolded it.

"Who's the boss here?" you hissed hotly at the sizzling food. "That's right, me, because I'm about to eat your ass, so simmer down and stop trying to singe my arm hair off."

Yoongi blinked.

He got off the couch as you continued your quiet tirade, shoving your hand into a bag of cheese and sprinkling it on top, laying down a generous layer.

You should cover it, Yoongi thought. To let the cheese melt.

You grabbed a pan lid, and covered it. The lid definitely went to a separate set because it was a different shade of silver, but it didn't matter. You mumbled triumphantly at the pan.

"Ha, take that, you stupid eggs, who's in the hot seat now, eh?"

Yoongi stared.

You lifted the lid and checked the cheese. A billow of smoke floated out. You seemed satisfied and turned off the gas. Lifted the pan and spun around.

Froze.

Yoongi blinked at you.

Your eyes were wide, still holding the hot pan.

Silence.

A good ten seconds past.

You slowly put the pan on the cork potholders at the counter. Two plates were at the counter with two sets of chopsticks.

"Uh... I made a kimchi-egg pancake t-thing..." you stuttered. "With cheese on top. You don't have to eat it. But I'm not going to poison you or anything. Er, well, that's something a someone who would poison you would say, huh? Oh, maybe I should have checked the expiration date on the kimc–"

"Why do you talk to your food?" Yoongi asked pointedly.

You turned bright red.

"Um... bad habit. 'Cause I live alone..." You shifted your eyes. "No one... to talk to."

Yoongi stared at you.

You turned around abruptly and grabbed a knife. Took off the pan lid. The kitchen was suddenly filled with the delicious smell of eggs and kimchi. The cheese bubbled as you cut it into pizza-like slices.

Yoongi sat down at the barstool, staring at it. He was the one who usually cooked. He hadn't had a home-cooked meal by someone else in forever. Not since he lived with his parents.

That was a long time ago.

"I seasoned the eggs beforehand and poured it on the sautéed kimchi..." You placed a plate with a pair of chopsticks in front of him, ears still red. You avoided looking him in the eye, scratching your cheek. "I, uh, have to go grocery shopping," you mumbled, taking a slice. "Sorry it's not that fancy..."

Yoongi picked up the chopsticks and took a slice. He blew in it carefully and took a small bite. Spicy, savory, delicious. He took another bite. And another. The food was hot, almost burning the roof of his mouth. This must be a dream. He wasn't in his nightmare. He wasn't going to question it.

As long as he wasn't in his nightmare, he could pretend this was reality.

Yoongi didn't notice you watching him with relief.

He took another slice. The meal was quiet, but not suffocatingly so. It was calm, only interrupted by chewing. You reached into the cabinet below you and produced a water bottle. Put it next to him. Didn't say anything. Yoongi are three more slices, throat prickling with the spice, lips puffy, before he opened the water bottle and drank from it.

"If you want, I can direct you to a shelter."

Yoongi put the water bottle down. Stared at his stained, now empty plate.

"Or you can call a friend to shelter you," you continued. "You can even get a restraining order if we involve the police–"

"No."

He said the word with harsh finality.

"It's not that bad."

It wasn't. He was just being a child, running away.

"... Okay."

Yoongi looked up. For a split second, there was immense pain in your eyes. Why? None of this was happening to you. You didn't know anything. You were just some stranger. Why was he even here? Why had he come here to sleep on some random couch? So dumb. Some random woman couldn't save him from his problems.

... Your kids will spend years in fucking therapy wondering why they don’t understand how to make relationships with other human beings because their mom was a terrible fucking example...

Yoongi stilled as he remembered your words from last night. That was far too specific. His brows furrowed. You let out a sigh and took his plate.

"Do you want a shower?" you asked. "I have spare towels."

Yoongi tilted his head. "I don't have a change of clothes." He stared at the hardwood floor. "And my other clothes are probably burned by now."

You placed the dishes in the sink and began to wash them.

"We can go buy some. I need groceries anyway."

He didn't understand why you were being so nice to him. It was strange. You didn't know him. Well, actually... he didn't even know your name either.

"Uh..."

You looked up from the dishes, hands covered in soap. Yoongi did all the dishes at home. He did all the housework, in fact. This was weird, watching another person do housework. His voice was quiet, timid, crumpled like a piece of paper.

"What's your name?"

"Do you want white or black?"

You held up two multi-packs of t-shirts in his size.

"Uh... Black."

You dumped the black in the cart and put the other back. Yoongi stayed behind you, not picking out anything. You were wearing your backpack, a black cap, red wide-knit sweater, and black jeans. Black combat boots, the familiar staple for you. The two of you are standing in an aisle at the local convenience store. Yoongi was still wearing the same clothes from last night – black parka, black turtleneck, black jeans, black face mask.

He mostly stared at the floor, following your boots.

"White or black?"

Yoongi looked up to see you on the other side of the cart, holding two multi-packs of underwear. White briefs and black boxer briefs. He felt his cheeks heat up as you blinked at him. Instead of speaking, he grabbed the black boxer briefs from your hand, intending to chuck them into the cart.

Except his jacket sleeve caught a strand of your red sweater, the Velcro sticking to and unraveling it, so that when he twisted his hand to throw the plastic pack into the cart, the yarn tangled around his fingers and got caught, rapidly getting pulled around. Your eyes widened, gasping as the red string was yanked from your sweater.

"O-oh!"

"Fuck!"

His hand was tangled in it and the part around your wrist tightened, the missing yarn causing the constriction. Yoongi cursed again, trying to shake free, panic rising. Oh no, fuck, what if you got angry? What if you started yelling at–?

You laughed.

You started laughing. Yoongi froze, slowly lifting his head to witness your laughter. Your shoulders shook, shaking your head, big smile on your face. The yarn hung in the air, shaking a little.

The red string connecting you to him.

Yoongi stared.

At you.

His heart thudded in his chest.

Thump.

"Hold on," you chortled, reaching over and following the red yarn.

Thump.

His heart was like a bass drum. Consistent and loud, rhythm in his own ears. You untangled the mess slowly, carefully, wrapping the exposed end loosely around your wrist. Finally, it was off his fingers. Your fingers were centimeters from the back of his hand. You grasped the red yarn tightly. Yoongi looked at the end, trapped in the Velcro of his parka.

Thump.

A fleeting feeling.

Happiness.

You ripped the red yarn off, the end frizzy and scraggly.

Another fluttering feeling.

Sadness.

You backed up, going back to the cart, tucking the end in next to your wrist, all chuckles. Thump, thump, thump. He couldn't breathe. It was impossible. What was going on? Why did he suddenly start shaking all over?

"I'm sorry," he blurted, breathless in panic.

You shook your head, waving a hand.

"Don't worry about it. This thing is old anyway." You pointed to the rack. "Is four enough? Or do you need more?"

"U-uh..."

"Let's get one more. I can always return it if you change your mind."

"Do you have a job to go to? Because I have to go soon," you were saying as you shoved the groceries into the fridge. Yoongi was unwrapping the plastic and cutting off the tags from the few clothing items you two had bought.

"Um... yeah, I work at a music studio..." Yoongi mumbled. "I make my own hours."

"And it ends right before the last train, right?" you affirmed, nearly dropping the green onions and making a mad dash for them before they touched the ground. Whew. You shoved them back in your fridge. You didn’t really have an organization system. You probably should. Being an adult was hard.

"... Yeah."

"Cool, you should take a shower now then. I'll get a towel, hold on!"

You scrambled out of the kitchen to find a towel in the linen closet, the fridge door still open.

"... Alright..."

Pause.

Fast forward.

Yoongi spent the entire train ride tense. You sat in your usual spot, humming along, bobbing your head to your music in your earbuds. Neither of you attempted to sit next to the other. Yoongi fully expected his girlfriend to be there as he stepped out of the train, at the last stop. He thought he was going to get yelled at once again. He thought she would be there to smack him upside the head again. He braced himself as the doors opened, exhaling deeply as he walked out of the sliding doors.

"Ugh, I need some energy," you mumbled behind him, yawning.

No one was there.

The bright streetlamps only illuminated the concrete.

"Hey, Yoongi."

He turned his head to see you tilting yours.

"You coming?"

You bounced on your heels. He remembered your usual routine.

"Wanna race?" you asked with a big grin.

Morning. Night. Morning. Night.

Empty station at the last stop. No one but you and him getting off.

Morning. Night.

"Hey, Yoongi."

Morning.

"You coming?"

Night.

“Wanna race?”

Repeat.

The cassette tape replayed over and over, flipped around in the stereo, day in, day out, stuck on replay, a weird reality that wasn't his until it became his, seeing your face when he woke up, watching you cook breakfast in the morning, chastising inanimate objects when you thought he wasn't looking.

Your lips asking him once again.

"You coming?"

Then you and him, breaking out into a run, racing to your apartment.

At first, Yoongi didn't smile.

Then one day, he did.

And he kept smiling, smiling as he ran breathlessly with you.

"What are you doing?"

You froze.

Literally one second before you heard those words, you had been wiggling your arms like an octopus in front on your full-length mirror, flapping the long sleeves of your over-sized blue sweatshirt, your billowy knee-length gray shorts following suit. You reached up to your Bluetooth headphones to take them off.

And realized, with heated cheeks, that the music was not coming from your headphones, but the Bluetooth speakers on your desk, blaring the odd twangs of guitar and quirky drum beats, paired with whiny, almost nonsensical lyrics.

You turned around.

Yoongi stood at the entrance of your bedroom door, staring. He was wearing a black t-shirt. Black sweatpants that were slightly too short, exposing his pale ankles.

The song went into the guitar solo.

He blinked at you.

"Uh... dancing?"

Blink.

Normally after work, Yoongi would either be asleep or watching television in your living room. You told him cable came with the apartment and you never watched TV, so he should at least watch some in your stead. You usually went to your room. The first couple nights, you only danced in your chair. Then you got up and danced next to your desk, and then you were back to your wacky mirror dancing, thinking that if it was though headphones, then Yoongi wouldn't notice.

But, of course, you had disturbed him with your music blasting through the speakers, which had never been disconnected all this time because, well, how were you supposed to know? They must have connected because your over-ear headphones died.

"That was dancing?" Yoongi echoed.

Your eyes shifted. "Er... it's stress relieving?"

Yoongi stared at you.

Blink.

The song changed. One of your favorites.

Your shoulders began to bounce. Your head tapped to the beat. Then your heel.

Blink.

"Are you possessed?" Yoongi asked with a deadpan look.

The tune was getting to the good bit with the xylophone. Fuck it. He had already seen you octopus it up. You began to bob your head from side to side, breaking out to a big grin, shooting him some finger guns before going back to your full-body jiggle and arm flapping, singing along on the top of your lungs, prancing around your room, Yoongi staring at you the entire time in mild shock. He probably thought you were psychotic, but who cared, because you were clapping along to the snare drum, skipping in circles, pointing at him at certain parts in the lyrics and playing air guitar.

His normally downcast cat-like eyes were huge.

You grabbed his hands at the guitar solo and he yelped, his arms rippling as you swung them around, you stumbling through the lyrics, singing the absurd words, and Yoongi gawking wide-eyed.

The song went to the final chorus and you wiggled like a fucking squid.

Only to see Yoongi burst out laughing and wiggle his arms with you, tiny wiggles compared to your full-blown tentacle swings, but it made you laugh too, because it was all stupid and ridiculous and very embarrassing.

With a start, you realized you had seen Yoongi laugh.

And he looked so wonderful laughing, perfect teeth and pink gums, huge smile and scrunched-up face, black hair falling back from the strength of his chuckling, revealing his lovely fair-skinned features and those cat-like eyes sparkling.

Sparkling with brightness.

The song ended and you were panting breathlessly.

Yoongi raised his eyebrows in disbelief, half-smirk on his lips.

"Your music taste is nuts."

You smiled as the next song started.

"Nah, this is just my nighttime dance party music. It's supposed to be crazy."

You flapped your sleeves to the beat of the drum. Grinned at him.

"Because every night should be a dance party."

And you started dancing again, Yoongi watching you and laughing, even joining in sometimes.

From then on, every night was a dance party. At one point, Yoongi started to bring you songs and weird beats he discovered for you to dance to. He even said a few times, "Hey, I made this. Can you make a dance from it?"

You'd dance to anything.

You weren't great at it.

But it was always hilarious.

And it was always worth it, watching Yoongi laugh all night.

Pause.

Fast forward.

Wait. Are you sure?

You can always rewind.

You don't have to press play.

Pause.

Play.

“Do you like rap?”

You were sitting next to Min Yoongi on the night train. There were still people around, not yet the last stop. He was clutching his phone, face mask on his chin. He looked a little nervous.

“Yeah, of course. I like all music,” you said cheerfully. “Something you want me to dance to?”

Yoongi chuckled a little, giving you that little half-smirk. “No.” He took a deep breath. “I’m a… music producer. And I… I make music. And I wondered if you wanted to listen to a little bit my mixtape.”

“I do.”

Yoongi looked taken aback. You grinned.

“I definitely want to listen to it.”

You connected your earbuds to his phone and listened carefully. His words, his beat, his rhythm. Yoongi sat beside you, wrapped in his black parka, looking nervous as he chewed on his lip, but you didn’t notice, bobbing your head to certain bits, mouthing the chorus, raising your eyebrows as he altered the framework of a traditional song. He had only five tracks on the playlist, but you listened to them all, holding his phone. When the playlist ended, you clicked back to your favorite parts and replayed them, over and over, listening to his strong, raspy voice.

Yoongi sounded confident when he was rapping.

Like he was meant to do it, perfectly expressing himself with his simple words and elegant phrasing, his anger, his sorrow, his hopes. You could tell there was an underlying theme, an uncertainty about the future. As if he was taking steps to an invisible, unlit path, and he wasn’t sure whether to run forward without a guiding light or go back to all he knew.

You handed him back his phone with a smile. You understood him a little better now.

“Well?” he asked, still biting his lip.

“I really like it,” you said. “Especially your vocals. It’s different from other voices I’ve heard.”

“… It’s not that–”

“And I like your lyrics. They’re simple, but they pack a punch and make you think.” You smiled widely. “I like music that makes me want to listen to it over and over again. That’s how your rap makes me feel.”

Yoongi looked stunned.

You pointed to his phone. “You could release it just like this, if you wanted.” You tilted your head. “Hm, maybe a few more songs though. It seems like you’re trying to tell a story.”

He blinked rapidly, putting his phone in his pocket. “Y-Yeah… I’m working on a few more that I want to add.”

You nodded. “That’d be awesome.”

The train screeched to a halt. There was no one in the car. That was your cue. You stood, stretching first and then shouldering your backpack. Yoongi stood as well, pensive and silent. The train doors slid open. He walked out first and you followed. Streetlights harsh and bright on the concrete. Yoongi did his usual routine of looking to the edge of the train station.

Both of you froze.

“Get the fuck over here, Yoongi.”

You recognized her. She might be wearing a different dress and a different coat, but it was the same woman all right, with the same harsh scowl.

“I knew you wouldn’t be a man and face the music. Instead, you went off prancing with some whore.”

“She’s not a whore,” Yoongi muttered, pulling up his face mask.

You didn’t say anything. There was a sudden pressure on your chest, an overwhelming, tense heaviness, because you knew what was coming.

“Are you telling me that you’re not going to come home to the woman you supposedly love, the one you were supposedly going to marry and give a comfortable life to?” the woman accused. “Are you telling me that you can’t take responsibility for your actions? That you’re not a man, but a child?”

Yoongi took a step towards her.

The weight in your chest felt like a ton of bricks crushing you.

Another step.

“Yoongi.”

He turned his head, dark brown eyes flickering to you.

You smiled.

Smiled even though the moment was killing you.

“I… I have to finish this,” he mumbled, the sparkle in his eyes dulling with every passing second.

You kept the bright smile on your face.

Like a cheerful-sounding song with sad lyrics.

“Okay.”

Pause.

You wanted to rewind. You wanted to rewind so bad, even if it was only to ten minutes before this painful moment. With a shaking hand, you pressed play.

“My door is always open for you, Yoongi.”

He made eye contact with you. He nodded.

“Goodbye.”

You turned and ran.

Ran and ran, hoping he was running after you, but you knew he wasn’t, you knew he was walking towards that toxic woman and you could do nothing about it, you couldn’t care, you just had to keep running, running and running until you hit your front door, fumbling with your keys and running inside, slamming the door closed.

You froze.

You wanted to scream.

Instead, you ran to your room and threw up a specific playlist, a playlist full of cheerful-sounding songs with agonizing lyrics, hopeful beats tainted by upsetting words, and danced the night away, danced and danced. Not wanting to think about the blankets on the couch, the suitcase you had dragged out to let Yoongi borrow and put his clothes in, not wanting to think about his toothbrush on your bathroom sink, not wanting to think about all those nights dancing stupidly in this bedroom with him, and focusing only on dancing alone, singing the night away, on and on and on until you couldn’t stand anymore, couldn’t sing anymore, and you just fell on your bed and passed out, completely drained.

Physically.

Emotionally.

Empty.

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #bts series #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you

190 notes · View notes

plush-rabbit · 4 years ago

Text

Sugar and Spice

Word Count: 2K

A/N: This is set after he passes the gym to Marnie:P I hope that you enjoyed it!! Im sorry for it being so late!! Also, since sunday was a lot,, pokemon related things will go on ao3 like tomorrow!!

Piers is a rather intimidating person. He’s tall and wears dark clothing, a certain look of disdain on his features to anyone who looks upon him. He won’t necessarily be rude to people but he has a rather flippant personality that makes it hard for people to approach him first.

You on the other hand, you try to meet him. You may not enjoy his type of music, but you do try to approach him, wanting to attend his concerts or even just listening to some of his earlier music that is different from the way he sings now. It’s softer, harsh lyrics that are whispered into your ear accompanied by static due to the low quality of the mic but you enjoy it.

Truth be told, he inspired you to start your own musical journey. Different from his genre obviously, but still. It was easy to write the music, to let the flow seep into you and sing with a lonely voice and cute look. If he could keep his dark, gloomy aesthetic, then you could keep your pastel, cheery one.

Yet, despite the hopeful encounter that you wish you could have had with him, ended horribly. He hadn’t exactly called you anything mean and while you were aware of the tone he held, it certainly didn’t prepare you to be on the receiving end of it. It was a heavy feeling that it left, an unmistakable uneasiness that made you squirm and want to leave.

And yet, you still hold a strong admiration to him. You still want to meet him and go against him in a battle even if it isn’t his strongest suit just for the fact that you believe like everyone else that a battle is what people go against, what they put all their might into and see how they can prevail at the end of it. You wanted to see the light in his eyes up close and see how he would fight.

You’re everything opposite to Piers. Where he dresses in dark clothing and has a rather cold demeanor, you dress in soft colors and try to appear friendly to others, often accompanied by your team of fairy and mostly pink colored pokémon. You spent a good portion of your youth hating pink, wanting to go against gender norms but as you grew older, you fell in love with the color and the frills, wanting to be dressed in a cute way that while others may have seen as overbearing, you just liked it and it made you happy. Where as he sang metal and rock, you stuck with pop, you wore your dresses and had even jokingly called the type of music you sang “bubblegum pop”, no real reason behind it- agains, it just made you happy to call it. Despite the differences, you greatly admired the ex- gym leader. He had been able to hold his own in a town that was failing- no fault on his of course- and had been a caring brother from what you have seen. He was an admirable person and while the music he made wasn’t exactly your taste, you could learn to enjoy it.

However, due to your rising fame and the type advantage against him, people around the region- who knew of both of you- had begun to jokingly call the two of you rivals, wanting to see you both battle it out and see who would reign above the other. And while you would have happily accepted the chance to meet Piers, a trainer you strongly admired, he had only sneered at the idea of you and him having a battle. To say it hurt would be an understatement. He’s a personal inspiration and to have him act that way to the mere mention of you left you deflated.

It’s a mere accident that you both are in the same area. Mentions of him of you are sprinkled into your notifications, buildings that match in the background and while you aren’t proud of it, you take to following the buildings and the threads. You walk around, your white tennis skirt paired with a soft, baby blue pullover and pair or white tennis shoes, an obvious giveaway to who you are, a yellow star shaped bag that crosses over your chest, and a bow with trailing ribbons falling and curving around your shoulders, tickling at your neck with every step until you finally seem to be in a surrounding area that he was last seen at. While it left you with an odd taste, you wanted to run into him and express your admiration for him- just for a quick second, to tell him how much you liked the music he put out and how he stuck with the aesthetic- you could understand how expensive it could be to stick with something as money-consuming as clothing.

You find him by accident. It’s a completely stereotypical moment when you do. You both stand at the opposite ends of the fountain decorated with carvings of various water types from the region, the sun shines and you can see in front of you with his sister and the rising champions. You hold onto the straps of your bag, your lips pulling into a flustered line, heat that rises from excitement or general shyness- you aren’t sure yet, and you stare at him with wide eyes. In the pockets of your skirt, you can feel your phone buzz and in the corner of your eyes, you can see people hurriedly take out their phones. And just like that, the serene, very stereotypical moment is over when he turns around and your eyes meet. Where you widen and flush under his gaze, he hardens his stare and grows an annoyed look, brows furrowing and lips pulled into a thin line.

Your resolve is broken. You gasp, and look around, seeing people stare and a small circle forming, whether for the both of you or the rising stars of the region, you don’t know and you don’t find out, choosing to leave the area. You jump a bit, standing on the tips of your shoes and you turn to leave.

You don’t want to stick around and see what he might have to say, the thought of the smallest bit of rejection far too much on your mind. You manage to make your way into a bookstore, the scent of coffee lingering in the air and you greet the employees with a tight smile, wandering deeper into the store, hoping to distract yourself and walk between the aisles and find something to buy.

You stand at the end of the store, against a corner as you trail your finger against the spines of the books. In your peripheral, you can spot a figure, standing tall and you pay no mind. There is no real reason for you to worry- you may not look the part, but you can certainly fight dirty and the store isn’t abandoned so you could always call for help. You hum under your breath, pulling out a book and pursing your lips as you read the synopsis. The figure at the end comes closer and you turn, a soft squeak sounds past your lips. You feel yourself stand straighter, your shoulders squaring and the book held close to your chest, fingers gripping onto it tightly, enough to pale your knuckles.

“You ran away,” Piers muses, his fingers trailing along the spines, his steps quiet against the carpet. “You must be really scared of me,” he says, looking away from you, chuckling lightly. He stands in front of you, his brows raising as he looks down at you.

His dual colored hair is pulled into a loose ponytail, a thick part of it obscuring half of his face and you can only do so much to not cower under his gaze, eventually breaking from his eye contact and looking at the top of your shoes that differ from his.

“‘S not that,” you mutter, biting at your bottom lip. “I just… panicked,” you end, licking at your lips. “I- I didn’t mean to offend you.”

You were kidding yourself if you thought you could talk to him. Much less have a battle against him. Once he showed up, your resolve fell, further than it did before when he looked at you. You take a small step back, your shoes shuffling and messing at the carpet underneath, and your eyes still locked on his boots. Just a second ago, you wanted to proclaim your admiration to him, enough to go and see him and find him and yet, here he is standing in front of you without any distractions or prying eyes and you can’t bring yourself to talk to him with faltering.

“You’re a lot jumpier than I expected, ya know?” His reply to you is done with a simple roll of his eyes. “I mean, fuck, I guess it’s expected for a type user like you.” You stay quiet and you can almost hear his smug grin. “Lots of people comment how you’re a pushover because of your, er, type and all.”

You look up at him, your brows furrowed and frown against your lips. You lean towards him, the book still held in your hands. “It’s- So what? I like pink and fairy types! They happen to be cute and they’re strong!” Your voice starts to raise, slowly raising into a higher pitch, shoulders raiing a fraction to meet the ends of your lobes. “Plus, there are a few fairy that have a dark counterpart and Mimikyu is one that I’m going to add to my team!” Your eyes narrow and you pull away from him, crossing your arms in front of you, a scowl on your lips, face growing hot under anger. “I just happen to be,” you make a small noise of discomfort and bite the inside of your cheeks, “quieter.”

He looks taken aback, eyes wide as he blinks owlishly at you. His down turned lips start to twitch, forming into a wicked smile. He snorts and shakes his head, a pleasant sound ringing through the small corner, and you soften, your arms slowly lowering from their harsh grip.

“You got some fire in you, huh?” He asks, tilting his head “Damn, didn’t think you had it in you to actually stand up for yourself like that.” You meet his eyes and he flashes a quick grin that reveals his teeth. “Nothing bad about it, I swear.” he holds his hands up and brushes a hand through his hair. “Anyways-” he waves a hand and you watch it with careful eyes- “you oughta be more careful about who you yell it at, as all I’m gonna say,” he muses.

“Piers?” He hums in response and you swallow nervously. “Wh- Why did you come here?” You don’t want to accuse him of following you here, for all you know it could be a happy, little accident. “And why did you talk to me?”

His milky complexion turns into a bright pink that fills in his cheeks, a flustered look on his face where his eyes narrow. “Oh, hah, I- Marnie needed a book and I-” his hand swings around at a much faster pace, circling around in front of him with an open palm and you react instinctively.

You make a pained gasping noise, the book dropping onto the floor with a thud as your hands come up to block your face, back hunched as you try to cower under the minimal protection that you offer yourself. You whimper and take a stumbling step back that leads you against the wall, your eyes pinched shut and it’s a second too late that you realize you messed up. You gasp and straighten up, an uncomfortable heat running down your back as you meet his eyes.

He stands frozen, his hand still in midair and his eyes are wide, darting down to the book and back to where your hands still hold a semi-protective barrier against him. His eyes turn from shocked into pitiful and you break away from his gaze, mumbling an apology under your breath.

“Shit,” he hisses out, bringing his hands close to his body. “I didn’t mean to trigger you or-”

“It’s not that,” you respond quickly. “I- Can we not talk about it?” You turn to look at him, your bottom lip trembling ever so slightly, your eyes glancing back to the fallen book. “Please?” He nods slowly and you return it in response. You crouch down to grab the book and pull it close to you only to look back at it with disdain. You turn and place the book back into the shelf, your hands coming down to play with the hem of your skirt.

It’s silent. The soft music that plays from the music is not enough to drown the silence between the both of you and you want to chastise yourself for ruining a moment with your fears. Your teeth bite into the soft part of your cheeks, painful and enough to make tears spring into your eyes. In your pocket, your phone buzzes and you fail to pick it up, too frozen to care about the outside world.

“Do you want to get a coffee?” You look up at him and he gives you a hesitant smile. He jerks his chin to the other side, his hands inside his coat pockets. “I was thinking of getting a cup while I was here,” he clears his throat, “I could get you one if you want. We can drink it here too,” he adds quickly.

You give him a tentative smile, slowly pulling yourself away from the wall and taking a step closer to him. “Do you want to look for Marnie’s book first? I don’t- I don’t mind.”

“Right,” he says slowly, “her book. The uh- you know, let me message her to see what the title was, yeah?” He nods his head and moves to the side, jerking his head to allow you to walk in front of him first. “Let’s just get a drink first, all right?” He gives you a nervous smile, laughing quietly with eyes that come to a close. You come to stand next to him, nodding softly, your hands flexing at your sides in an attempt to calm down. “Neat,” he says. “Let’s get a cup

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statticscribbles · 4 years ago

Text

Consequences

Summary: Jughead/Reader, Request: Using the song Consequences by Camila Cabello. Plot wise, maybe reader gets with him after the whole “betty doing the serpent dance” with a happier ending than the song? (minor canon divergence, to say the least)

You’re starting to walk home, but you pause when you notice Betty waiting by a rack of bikes. You’re about to approach her, ask about why she thought doing the Serpent dance had any meaning without the other trials behind her but you pause. Jughead is walking towards her. You don’t start back home, hesitating wanting to see what happens. “What is it, was it the dance?” You listen to Betty question him. Jughead nods and shrugs.

“It was everything Betty, why would you do that?” “I want to be a part of this, of your world, of the serpents.” “Then you should have done the other trails, you should have joined, not gotten up on stage in front of everyone to put on what amounted to a strip tease. The Serpent dance is done as a celebration, a congratulations for finishing the other trials, it’s not meant to be done around anyone other than the serpents, and certianly not my dad and all his friends.” Jughead snaps and Betty puts her hands on his shoulders. ‘We can figure this out together, we can-“ “No.” You cringe at how blunt he is, how he turns away, you panic for a moment, his eyes catching yours and he nods a fraction before he turns back to Betty shaking his head.

“Go back to the Northside, you’re safe there.” He speaks softly nudging her towards her mom’s car. He turns fully from her striding towards the trailer park, you fall into step with him, trying your best to not look back at Betty.

You step past his house, intent on going to yours, farther back, but his hand grips your wrist. “You think I fucked it up too right.” You turn shaking your head. “You’re right, about the trials.” You pat his shoulder awkwardly. “Betty and I, we were never going to work, she’s a Northsider, the perfect girl next door, everything Archie should have, everything Ronnie should get. I’m just trailer white trash in a gang, the stereotypical bad boy she falls for and fixes. It’s just infuriating she doesn’t see it.” “You don’t need to be fixed, it’s just both of you have different worlds you live in, you don’t need to be ‘good’ for her world, and she doesn’t need to ‘go dark’ or whatever she’s said to fit yours. If it’s meant to work it will, and so far it doesn’t seem like it will. There’s no shame in that. Better to break it off now than suffer.” He half smiles at you wiping at his eyes.

“You gonna be okay?” He nods, sighing. “Listen Y/N can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer.” “Of course.” “What do you think Betty saw in me?” You swallow shrugging. “Well I mean you’re attractive, tall, dark, handsome, mysterious.” You nod. “You spend time with her doing things she loves, which is crime solving and reporting; something you enjoy too. Plus you’re the leader of a gang, you drive a motorcycle, and the whole ‘bad boy image’ thing you have going for you probably helps.” You smiles and he huffs. “What? You asked what I thought Betty saw in you, what were you expecting?” “For there to be more substantial things than ‘I look good and do shit she likes” “Well that’s not my fault, besides I’m just saying what I see. It’s an outsider’s perspective on you’re relationship.” “Well what would you see in me?”

“Well you’re the leader of the Serpents, which I’m in so I’d climb rank, kidding, kidding, but you’re incredibly kind, despite how cold you appear, and as much as you say you’re a loner you’re loyal to your friends. You’re the leader so you’re responsible and look out for the community and your family. You stuck by your dad and helped defend him, even with everything going on with the Snake Charmer situation, it’s what you thought was best. You keep everyone in line and listen to everyone’s ideas and opinions, no mater how stupid they are, and lets face it the Serpent’s have a lot of stupid ideas.” He nods smiling at you. “Well did that boost your ego a bit then, oh wise Serpent Leader.” You smile back and he laughs.

“Wouldn’t mind a bit more if you’re up for stroking it.” You blink at him face pinking slightly as he realizes the innuendo. “Should I come in then? Or would you rather continue out here?” He shakes his head. “You should get home.” You nod back to him. “Of course, I hope I at least helped with the Betty situation?” He offers a pained smile. “There’s no situation, can’t be a situation if there’s no relationship.” You nod awkwardly and turn to make your way back to your home.

The tapping on your window wakes you up and you roll over on your bed to prop the window open sticking your head out to look at Jughead’s face. “Coming in then?” You joke as he starts to climb in. You pull back smoothing your blankets down as he sits on your bed. “More about the Betty thing then?” You question when he doesn’t respond. “Jones? You alive in there?” “Can I kiss you?’ He questions as he presses his lips you yours, you pull him in and can tell he wasn’t expecting that with how he stumbles slightly. You don’t say anything when he pulls away, leaning back towards him to return the surprise kiss he’d given you. As your lips press together you let yourself accept that you’re falling in love with Jughead Jones. ———————————————————————————–

You let him bring you to Pop’s you’d taken your Serpent jacket off and have it folded in your arms just in case, you can’t count the number of dirty looks you’d gotten from walking to school with it on. You sit next to him in the booth insisting he can order for you. You eat in mostly silence occasionally answering questions back and forth. He keeps his hand twined with yours as you split a shake.

—————————————————————— You’re draped over his lap as the rest of the Serpent’s argue over pizza. “Seriously that’s the least of our worries, can we focus on the actual issue?” He speaks and Sweet Pea narrows his eyes. “Y/N tell your boyfriend that the pizza toppings are the most important thing right now.” “Well I just pick off whatever I don’t like cause I’m not a whiny bitch.” Jughead high fives you; before pulling you in for a kiss. “Don’t make me use the whole king thing over pizza.” “You’re a shit king, you’re okay with pineapple on pizza.” “Sweets he’s okay with anything on pizza. It’s pizza.” ——————————————————————————–

You’re curled up on his couch, completely on top of him as his hand runs through your hair. You’re falling asleep and he’s talking about some idea Toni had for a better ‘team bonding’ as she put it. You’re letting his voice lull you to sleep, occasionally nodding and humming in agreement, he asks you more direct question, you’ve already forgotten as you look up and smile at him before moving slightly to kiss him slowly. “I love you.” You pull back from the kiss to return to your previous spot on top of him. You smile into his chest but freeze when he tenses, you look up nervously; his face probably as pink as yours as he realizes what you’ve said. “I love you too.” He returns and continues trying to stutter through whatever plan Toni has. —————————————————————————————-

You been about to tell him about the idea for your anniversary, but you stay quiet. He notices when your face falls but you assured him it’ll be fine. You tried your best not to react, not until you could get away. “I just think; well I want to try things with Betty again is all.” He offers you a nod and you return it, biting the inside of your cheek as you plan the best exit strategy from school. It’s easier than you think to skip school; no one bothering you, they almost expect it, a Serpent skipping, what a shock you’re sure is what everyone is thinking.

—————————————————————————————- “I want you to go check on him.” You glare at the others. “But we..” “That’s exactly why. Go.” You glower at the other Serpents but make your way to the trailer, tapping on the window. The door opens and you step into what you weren’t surprised to see. The bottles, the drinks had been cleared away, proof FP was trying to change; now all that lingered was tissues’ and a few unwashed clothes. “You look; different.” His voice is hoarse and you watch as he shoves a small avalanche of tissues away from himself so you sit down next to him. “Different?” He shrugs at your questioning.

“Tired.” He amends and you offer a wry smile, you know you’re probably paler, the circles under your eyes darker. The amount of sleep you’d been getting had been less; you’d be substituting it and meals for too much coffee. “You this upset about you and Betty breaking it off again?” You nudge his shoulder as you sit and he swallows. “We shouldn’t be together, we’re not good for each other like that.” You roll your eyes. “Relationships take work, you can’t expect everything to be wonderful all the time, you can’t keep the rose coloured glasses on forever.” “I missed the red flags cause of those glasses.” You grasp for his hand. “Red Flags? Was it that bad?” “Not like abuse, just, not good. We worked together so well when its life or death; but she’s wary of the Serpent’s; she doesn’t like the violent aspect of the gang unless it suits her needs.”

“Jughead, that’s everyone outside of the gang. That’s pretty much everyone in general. You wouldn’t like it if Betty was violent outside of protecting someone, hell if any of us, the Serpent’s hurt someone for the hell of it you’d be pissed.” “But it’s not the same.” “How?” You arch your eyebrows. “If it’s not for her, she doesn’t like it. And I don’t mean the violence; she seems bothered by me. When I try to be a leader she-“ He cuts himself off shrugging. “She wants the name that comes with you being Serpent King but not the work?”

“No she just, she doesn’t understand; she didn’t grow up like me, like us.” He shrugs again and you smile sadly. “Relationships are hard, I came by cause the rest of them are worried, said you haven’t been out of the house besides school, you barely talk to any of them either. What’s going on? They’re about two hours away from staging an intervention and locking Betty and you in a closet to talk.” “It’s uh, not about Betty.” “Is it about the Serpent’s themselves?” “Do you remember when we went on our first date? Out to Pop’s?” “Yes why?” “Can we do that again?” “Date? Or go to Pop’s?” “Both.” You frown at him.

“You’re not just bummed cause Betty dumped you are you?” “I dumped her, like last time.” You furrow your brow. “Jugs listen, I, I can’t do that again.” His face falls and you swallow shaking slightly. “This is so stupid.” You shake your head sighing. “When you told me you wanted to try things with Betty again, I was going to tell you I was planning a sort of party, mostly the serpent’s just everyone spending time together, all of your favourite foods. I made a cake even.” You laugh bitterly.

“I can’t let you put me through that again. After you dumped me, I didn’t leave my room for two days. Fangs had to drag me out. Like physically carry me. You, you really hurt me Jughead. I love you, that’s never changed but I don’t know if I want to risk that hurt again.” You sniffle and wipe your eyes annoyed at yourself for crying. He pulls your hands toward his. “Y/N, I never wanted to do that, I swear.”

“You still did it.” He nods you can tell he’s about to cry again, or maybe he already was but he rests his forehead against yours and smiles sadly. “I’m so sorry for hurting you, let me prove to you I’ll never do it again, please?” You stare at him for a moment, pulling back still silent, you glance to the clock and chew your lip. “Well I guess it’s a good thing Pop’s is open twenty-four hours then isn’t it?”

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charmingyong · 4 years ago

Text

Sassy Girl’s Obsession

Genre: Taeil x fem!reader, university, humour, fluff, angst

Warnings: mentions of stereotype and violence, police scene

Word count: 3.7k

Plot: You were a courageous, energetic, and resolute girl that had boys falling for you. You fell in love at first sight with a particular music student who was also a relative of your friend, Doyoung. Your curiosity grew when he ignored you, making you go through great lengths to win his heart. Taeil was cautious of you and your reputation around campus, but every time he tried to get away from you, you’d always run after him… and secretly he liked it too.

A/N: This obsession is harmless and pretty humourful. Reader’s personality is supposed to be a mix of Hwang Yongsik from ‘When the Camellia Blooms’ and Ko Moonyoung from ‘It’s Okay to Not Be Okay.’ If you see that, then YAY! If not, then just ignore I said that :) There’s a Cardcaptor Sakura reference included if you know that anime.

- ❀ -

《 Picky Picky – Weki Meki 》

You inwardly groaned when Felix nervously stood beside your seat.

“Y/N, I got you this.” He handed you a box wrapped in silver gift wrap with a red envelope taped to the top.

You flashed him a smile, more fake than genuine. “Thanks.”

He beamed at you, not leaving from his spot and waited for your next move.

You quirked an eyebrow. “You want me to open this now?”

He frantically nodded, excited to see your reaction.

You sighed and ripped the envelop off before tearing the gift wrap apart. The box was a set of three perfumes of the most luxurious brands that you had ever heard of. You weren’t interested in two of the scents, but the third one piqued your interest. Japanese cherry blossom.

You chuckled. “Wow,” you breathed out. “And what’s this for?” You didn’t have to ask because every time a guy did this to you, there was only one thing they wanted.

Felix bit his lips nervously and said, “Um, it’s in the card.”

You pulled the card out from the red envelope and flipped it open.

- I really like you. Will you go on a date with me please?

Okay so you did have a soft heart for people who had manners, especially when they used the word please. He was only asking for a date, unlike previous boys who’d straight up ask you to be their girlfriend. However, you simply weren’t into going on a date with someone who liked you. There were guys who had piqued your interest and you went on some dates with them. But they’d all end up boring the hell out of you, flexing about their physique or their love for luxurious cars. Your taste in men had gone from being open to being super selective and picky.

“I’m sorry Felix. I’ll have to turn you down. You can take this back,” you said trying to hand the gift back but he shook his head.

“No please don’t be sorry. I understand you get asked out a lot so I was only taking a chance at it. I really do like you and I wish you keep the gift. Please?”

Oh. “Okay... thanks.”

He smiled and left your side, a little dejected.

Doyoung elbowed your side hard. “Ow! What the hell Dons!”

“Are you crazy? You shouldn’t give a gift back to the same person.”

“Yeah but it was hella expensive.”

“So? Don’t you sell the other ones off?”

“Yeah because they come from assholes. Felix was at least being polite.”

“Then you should have agreed on a date with him.”

“I don’t want to hurt him after by saying that I just did it for the gift so I won’t feel bad about selling it off for tuition.”

He scoffed. “You’re so nice.”

“And you’re mean.” You stuck your tongue out at him.

- ❀ -

《 Heart Attack – AOA 》

You walked your friend to his music class before you went for your coffee break. You spotted a boy that you didn’t recognize standing right outside the music class.

“Oh Taeil!” Doyoung called.

The boy looked at him and the smile that followed after had your heart skipping a beat.

When you and Doyoung stopped right in front of him, your friend did the introductions. “Y/N, this is Taeil. He’s actually my second cousin and he recently transferred here. Taeil, this is Y/N, my friend.”

Taeil smiled warmly at you. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

Thump thump.

You could hear your heartbeat loudly at the sound of his melodic voice and the sweet smile complimented with it.

- ❀ -

In the library, you fell asleep with your forehead planted flat on the table while Doyoung worked on his assignment beside you.

He rolled his eyes at you and shook your shoulder, but no response was received.

“Y/N?”

Still no response.

He huffed and flicked his finger at the top of your head.

You jolted up and yelled “Taeil!”

All eyes landed on you in the library. You apologized to the students and shrunk in your seat, feeling embarrassed.

Doyoung looked at you with suspicious eyes. “Why on earth did his name come out of your mouth?”

You felt heat rise up to your cheeks and laughed it off nervously. “Haha oops.”

He narrowed his eyes on you. “Don’t oops me. What is it?”

You weighed your options. If you told Doyoung, then he could possibly support you. But then, at the same time he wouldn’t because this was about his cousin. Yet above everything, he was your friend.

“I like Taeil.”

“Like? What kind of like?”

“Like I mean like like.”

He exhaled. “You know I’ll be on your side for anything. But this is my cousin we’re talking about. If you mess things up, I don’t think I’ll be able to look at you because my cousin comes first.”

You nodded. “I know, but I think I’m serious about him, Dons.”

He watched your face carefully, trying to discern whether this was fleeting or something deeper. He couldn’t find any hints on the former and slumped his shoulders.

- ❀ -

《 Signal – Twice 》

You were delighted at the fact that Taeil was in one of your classes with Doyoung. It was unfortunate that he opted to sit more in the middle of the room when you sat at the back. You didn’t like paying attention to the particular professor as his teaching method didn’t work for you. But the newbie being his cousin, Doyoung chose to sit with him.

You didn’t mind that because you were preoccupied by the task at hand. Thankful that you were an ace with your throwing skills, your paper airplane flew across the class.

The couple sitting in front of you threw a look at you, silently asking ‘are you crazy?’ and a few snickers were heard as the plane flew past them.

It hit the back of Taeil’s head and his hand went up to rub the spot. He ignored it shortly and resumed his attention on the lecture at the front.

Your jaw dropped. Did he just ignore it? But you were resolute. You prepared another airplane and flung it to him. This time he noticed something was up and found the airplanes on the floor. He unfolded the flaps and read the message, both of them identical.

- I like you, from your secret admirer, Y/N

Taeil blinked at your handwriting. First, he was surprised that a girl even liked him. He was boring and a nerd. And second, it was you that liked him. He heard about you around campus and he wasn’t sure whether you were serious about him or it was merely an infatuation that you’d get bored of later on.

He whipped his head around to find you sending a flying kiss in his way.

Taeil turned back around to focus on the board, his heart beating erratically. He couldn’t let himself fall for you, only for you to grow tired of and leave him.

You on the other hand were puzzled by his lack of response. No guy had ever overlooked you when sending them a signal and the thought of Taeil being the first one to do it added onto to the fun of you trying to win his heart.

- ❀ -

《 Not That Type – gugudan 》

Doyoung dragged you to the library after you refused to work on your assignments. All you wanted to do was sleep and you were ready to bolt out the doors until the studious boy that had your heart beating hard caught your sight.

You left your friend’s hold and ran to sit down at the empty seat across him. Taeil was stumped when you sat with your arms crossed on the table, your eyes intently fixed on his face and a smile adorning your beautiful face. “Hi Taeil,” you sweetly greeted.

Doyoung caught up and sat down beside his cousin. “Hey, Taeil. What’s up?”

Taeil ignored you and responded back to him.

You blankly stared at him, perplexed that he once again ignored you. You got his attention once you blurted out, “I like you.”

Taeil stilled and took a deep breath before facing you. “Look Y/N, I really don’t know if you seriously mean that-”

“I’m not lying,” you deadpanned.

“I’m not saying that you are. You could really just be into me for the moment. But I know you’ll get bored of me. So it’s best if you leave me alone.”

Doyoung stayed silent, anxiously observing the conversation between you and his cousin.

You quirked an eyebrow at him. “You really don’t know how I feel about you and I’m going to show it.”

- ❀ -

《 Fancy – Twice 》

You still kept receiving expensive gifts from your admirers and so you decided to sell them off to buy some special things for the one you admired.

When you made your way to your usual seat in the back, you handed Taeil a box wrapped in pink gift wrap. Every time you saw him around campus, you’d handover the gifts to him. They’d range from chocolates, plaid shirts, denim and leather jackets, packs of Coca-Cola as Doyoung had mentioned one time that Taeil loved to drink those.

Next time, you found him sitting on one of the outdoor benches, basking under the sunlight. He noticed your form approaching him and slightly groaned inwardly. Even though he found you super annoying, he couldn’t stop his heart beating unsteadily. He secretly found it thrilling to have you run after him when it’d be vice versa with the other boys, especially when you’d send him numerous gifts of things that he loved. He could tell that you put thought into the presents and weren’t just sending him expensive things. For that, he had to give you plus points.

“Hi Taeil,” you beamed at him, clutching onto his next gift behind your back.

He sighed. “Hi Y/N. What is it now?”

You pulled out a handmade teddy bear with a red ribbon tied into a perfect bow around its neck. “I made this for you.”

He held the plushie carefully, inspecting its customized design. “You made this by yourself?”

You nodded, chuckling quietly. “Yup.”

His heart skipped a beat at the thought of you spending time to build the teddy bear yourself and it was then that he noticed a few bandages wrapped around the tips of your fingers.

Oh Y/N, what are you doing to my heart, he thought.

- ❀ -

《 I Don’t Like Your Girlfriend – Weki Meki 》

Taeil wanted to test your liking for him and asked his female friend from his music class for help.

You walked with Doyoung into the cafeteria and your heart stopped at the sight of Taeil.

Sitting across a girl.

You didn’t want to feel like the jealous type but you couldn’t stop the green feeling from erupting when you noticed the girl leaning in to give Taeil a peck on his cheek.

You gritted your teeth and clenched your hands tightly into a fist. “Oh that girl is so dead.”

Right before you stormed off, Doyoung grabbed your arm. “What the hell are you going to do?”

You yanked your arm free. “Watch me.”

With fume coming out of your ears, you stomped over to the two being lovey dovey with one another. When Taeil saw your figure from the corner of his eyes, he tried his best to stop the smile from spilling onto his face.

You found a Coca-Cola drink resting beside the girl’s plate and grabbed it, pouring the drink on top of her head.

It took a few seconds for the girl to register what had just happened and when it did, she screamed. “Are you psycho?” She got up and ran out of the cafeteria.

Taeil looked at you in pure disgust and disappointment. “Seriously Y/N? Are you really that desperate for me? Can’t you see that I’m trying to get you to leave me alone?” He wasn’t going to admit just yet of his true feelings for you.

Your lips formed an ‘oh.’ “So was this all an act? To get me to leave you alone?”

He was tugging hard at his hair. “For God’s sake, yes Y/N. You really should go and apologize to my friend. I asked her to do that,” he yelled, his face turning a bit red. “Can you just leave me alone?”

You pursed your lips and nodded. “Okay.”

Your response took him by surprise, his heart dropping a little. “What?”

“I’ll leave you alone.”

He went speechless. He didn’t think you were actually going to leave him alone after all this time of you being after him.

You sighed, looking at the floor, acting in defeat. “You thought I was going to say that, huh?”

He blinked, looking very lost.

You lifted your gaze to his and calmly repeated. “You really thought I’ll leave you alone. I’m never giving up.”

- ❀ -

《 Why – Taeyeon 》

You sat down in your seat waiting for your professor to arrive. You didn’t have either your friend or your crush in that evening lecture, so it was going to be a pain sitting still and not snore off until class was dismissed.

A guy came up to you with his group of friends behind him. Why did they walk up to you, you didn’t know. But you recognized its leader to be one of the guys that you had rejected.

Based on his facial expression, you didn’t like where this could possibly go.

- ❀ -

“Taeil? Have you see Y/N?” Doyoung asked his cousin frantically.

“What? No. Why?”

“I usually meet her at a bubble tea shop after her class ends, but she wasn’t there.” Doyoung’s voice was laced with anxiety. Your phone was switched off, which you’d never do in class as you’d usually be scrolling on your phone.

It was getting dark as the night fell. Even though he was mad at you for the act you pulled in the cafeteria on his friend, he couldn’t stop himself from worrying about you.

A phone rang and Doyoung picked it up. “Hello? Yes I am. WHAT?! Oh my God… Okay I will be there soon.” Doyoung hung up, with a registered shock on his face.

“What happened?” Taeil asked, hoping it had something to do with your whereabouts and you weren’t in danger.

“Do you want to come with me? I need to go to the police station.”

Taeil’s forehead lined with confusion. “Yes but why?”

“Y/N’s been charged with physical assault.”

- ❀ -

You sat on the chair, waiting for your friend to arrive and bail you out. Your arms were crossed as you huffed in anger at the boy sitting beside you. He held his broken nose while his head was slightly cracked open from the glass water bottle that you had smashed on it. He whimpered in pain, making you laugh bitterly in your head.

He deserved it, you thought.

Doyoung arrived, followed by the boy that you didn’t expect to come for you as well. Taeil looked around for you and when he found you, he sighed in relief to see you not hurt. The mere reaction from him made your heart soar, making you think that he was concerned for you. But when your brain reminded you of the thing that you promised yourself to do later, your heart fell.

“Y/N, what happened?” Doyoung asked, almost like he was scolding you.

Before you could reply, the police officer spoke up. “This young lady used physical violence on this man out of the blue.”

You gaped at him and slammed your hands on the officer’s desk, standing up. “It was not out of the blue! He started it!”

“No, she started it, officer,” the injured boy said weakly.

You turned to the boy. “You asked for it! That’s not my fault!” you yelled.

“Miss, please lower your tone,” the officer said sternly.

“Y/N, what exactly happened?” Doyoung asked.

You took a deep breath in, calming yourself down for a few seconds, and narrated the evening. “I was waiting for the lecture to begin, and this guy comes up to me with his friends. He starts talking shit about Taeil, how much of a nerd he is and how he doesn’t deserve someone like me. I got so mad that I broke his nose and I broke my water bottle on his head out of anger. You cannot tell me that this was my fault.”

While Taeil didn’t like that you used violence and risked yourself into getting in trouble, his heart pounded against his chest at the thought of you standing up for him.

The boy only asked for his injuries to be paid for, in which Doyoung agreed to as much as you hated it. After Doyoung bailed you out, you stepped into the night, breathing in the crisp air.

Taeil silently took hold of you hand, startling you, and observed out of concern the small bruise that formed from breaking the person’s nose.

You pulled out of his grasp, confusing him. You met his shining eyes, having something to tell him.

“Taeil, I really like you. Actually… I really love you. I always have and always will. If someone badmouths you, I’m not going to hold back and do nothing. I’m not scared of anyone or anything.” You paused briefly, sighing in defeat. “I know I can’t force you to like me back. I thought I could but I guess I can’t. And I don’t want you to hate me if I continue this ‘obsession’ so while this might seem like I’m ending my desire to win your heart, I’ll still always love you, Taeil.”

You gave him one last sincere smile before turning on your heels and walking away. You hugged yourself as your eyes stung with tears threatening to fall out. You willed yourself to not make a vocal sound of your heart breaking for the boys to hear from the distance.

Doyoung felt his heart become heavy, seeing his friend like that for the first time in his life. He knew he couldn’t do anything as everything was up to his cousin to decide what to do with the confession.

Taeil felt the honesty behind your words, and that made his heart shatter. He always disregarded your true feelings for him and told you off, trying to get you off his back for annoying him. He too liked you but was only being super cautious in case your feelings were short-lived. He made up his mind. He wanted to confess back to you. And for that, he had to do something in order to make it up to you.

- ❀ -

《 Cover Up – Taeyeon 》

“Here,” Doyoung handed you a gift bag and you groaned.

“Don’t tell me this is you breaking our friendship promise to ask my hand in marriage.”

He laughed. “No, but you like the person that this is coming from.”

“What?” You couldn’t believe your ears. Was it really from him? Your heart banged in your chest as you opened up the bag, gasping to see a teddy bear that looked similar to your handmade one except it was in a different shade of brown, lighter to his, and the colour of the ribbon tied around its neck being a light shade of pink.

“There’s a note in the bag too,” he grinned.

“Huh?” You rummaged your hand around in the bag, feeling the card and pulling it out. The card was handmade as well, with a large red heart in the middle of the white space. ‘I LOVE YOU’ was written on the heart in big letters. You flipped the card to check the backside for more writing and your heart stopped.

- I’m sorry Y/N to hurt you like the way I did. But I really like you too. I was scared to be someone who you’d ditch once you’d find someone better than me or get bored of me. That’s why I always tried to avoid you or do things to get you to stop being after me. But your confession outside the police station made me believe in your feelings and I was bad to let you walk away. I wanted to properly apologize before confessing my true feelings for you. This teddy bear is the same diy kit you got to make mine so Y/N… I’m sorry and I love you. From your secret but not so secret admirer, Taeil

You felt your eyes sting hard as you tried to keep your tears at bay. “Doyoung, he…” your voice failed as your emotions were ready to explode.

Your friend smiled. “Yes, Taeil.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s outside our music class, the first place you met him.”

You sprinted down the hallway and turned around the corner. At the distance you found the boy that had all of your heart.

“Taeil!” you yelled and ran up to him.

He turned his head, happy to see you and held his arms open. You crashed into him, wrapping your arms around his waist, and clutched tightly onto the gift bag.

“I can’t believe you like me back!” you cried.

He laughed at your dramatic self and patted the back of your head gently. He pulled back slightly and wiped your tears away, pressing a haste kiss on your forehead. “You’re really cute. How can I not like you?”

#nct #nct 127 #moon taeil #taeil x reader #taeil fanfic #nct fanfic #taeil fluff #taeil au #taeil imagines #taeil scenarios #nct x reader #charm

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bucketofcowboys · 4 years ago

Text

Santa-Maj Is Coming To Town

Cute Christmas fluff drabble I made randomly in the early hours of the morning (as one does). Hope you enjoy!

Relationships: Kiryu Kazuma/Majima Goro, Kiryu Kazuma & Sawamura Haruka, Majima Goro & Sawamura Haruka Words: 3,995 Warnings: No warnings! Just severe fluff and Nishida abuse AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28413567

- - -

"Ojisan, did you know that a polar bear's fur is see through?" Haruka spoke up, finally tilting her head up and away from the newest puddle she had decided to attack. She decided to entertain herself as they walked back to their apartment by dipping her toes in every puddle they walked by to see how much water she can kick up without making a complete mess.

At this point, her new winter boots were sure to be soiled in, but she made sure not a single drop got on the rest of her new outerwear. She cherished the winter jacket Kiryu had bought her as soon as the cold began to hit Kamurocho. It was perfectly puffy and warm with a nice pastel pink color to it, and around the hood was faux fur that would tickle her cheeks every time she huddled up when a cold breeze blew by.

"No, I didn't know that." Kiryu hummed in response. He held her hand and their connected arms swayed as they strolled down the street. As they approached a rather large puddle in the middle of the street, he gently tugged her in front of him to balance on the narrow dry patch of land around it.

It had snowed the previous few days, which was quite rare with the usual winter temperatures of the city. Christmas Eve of course was the day that the temperature decided to heat up once again, leaving large puddles of melted snow scattering each street corner. Kiryu would have preferred a white Christmas for his first holiday celebration with Haruka, but she seemed to be just as happy with soggy socks.

"Did you know that penguins have to hold their eggs between their legs to keep them from touching the ice and freezing?" Haruka had been spouting interesting animal facts the whole way home. Kiryu didn't mind though. If there was ever a trivia night on random animal facts he would rest assured that he would win.

"I didn't know that either." Another big puddle. He pulled her in front of him again, holding her hand above her head like he was twirling a ballerina.

"Do you know any cool animal facts Ojisan?" Haruka tilted her head back to look up at him. He hummed for a moment. He never was too interested in facts-- and he never paid attention in school, so he wracked his brain for anything he could scramble up.

"Uhh... did you know that..." he looked up at the dimmed night sky and watched as his breath steamed in the air for a moment as he thought, "Did you know that an octopus has three hearts?" He finally offered. She gave him a surprised look.

"Really?" She asked.

"I heard about it somewhere. I don't know how true it is." He shrugged and scratched the side of his chin.

After a couple more minutes of leisurely strolling through late night Kamurocho, avoiding puddles and exchanging animal facts (though Haruka said most of them), their temporary, dingy apartment had finally come into view. As they approached the back alley, leading to the door another large puddle came into view, this time with no dry spots to go around on. Kiryu pulled Haruka in front of him, but this time he let go of her hand and grabbed her from under her arms. He safely picked her up and placed her at the other side of the puddle without ruining her boots and with a few giggles to go along with it. He just stepped over it semi-clumsily.

Once they were in the alleyway, something felt wrong though. He paused for a moment before moving towards the back of the building with Haruka. He couldn't understand why, but the underlying feeling of wrong itched at the back of his mind and brought goosebumps up to his skin. It was a familiar feeling at this point. By why would he be here on Christmas Eve--

"Ho ho ho!!" Kiryu tensed up at the sudden vocal intrusion of his alone time with Haruka. It seemed like the person speaking was trying to make their voice sound deeper than it is, but eventually settling on shrilling out their failed impression of Santa. Both Haruka and him turned. Kiryu wasn't even sure how he could still be surprised by the man anymore.

Behind him, standing in the puddle he and Haruka had just hurtled over, was Majima, dressed up in an ill-fitting dollar store Santa costume that sagged way too much around the belly area, included with a scratchy looking synthetic white beard and a stained Santa hat that looked like it had seen better days. His eyepatch also seemed to have been customized to have a snowflake design on it, but upon further inspection, it was clear to see that he had just hot glued a snowflake decoration to his usual eyepatch.

"Majima no-nii san--" Kiryu started, But Majima quickly interjected.

"Ah ah ah!! Not Majima," He scolded, "Santa Majima." He quickly corrected, gesturing towards his outfit.

"Santa Majima," Kiryu corrected, not liking the feel of that name on his tongue, but it earned him a pleased smile from the man in front of him, "What are you doing here?"

"Me? Oh, I just came to wish the lil' tyke merry Christmas." He kneeled down and smiled over at Haruka. Ever since Majima kidnapped her all that time ago, she had been a bit wary of the man. But after the shift of Majima hanging out around Kiryu more often without looking for a fight, she had grown much more used to him. Kiryu would even say that she liked him. "Merry Christmas Haru-Chan!"

"Merry Christmas Majima-Ojisan." She giggled from Kiryu’s side. Santa Mahima frowned.

"No, not Majima. Santa Majima!" He corrected with a pointed stroke of the synthetic beard. Kiryu flinched at the prospect of how much it must itch.

"Majima-Ojisan I know that's you--"

"Haw? Who's Majima? Wait are ya talking about that Majima? Goro Majima? That one-eyed freak is at the top of the naughty list ya'know!" Kiryu tsked at the loving nickname he gave himself, "You shouldn't fraternize with people on the naughty list Haru-Chan. It can ruin yer rep."

"Majima-Ojisan isn't on the naughty list! No way!" She quickly defended.

"I dunno kid-- the stuff he does seems like naughty list material to me." Haruka quickly shook her head.

"No! He may act all tough and fight a lot, but he's a super sweet person when you get to know him!" Haruka said with such confidence that it was almost as if she wasn't talking to the person she was talking about. Kiryu had to hold back a smile at that, and when he looked back at Santa Majima he could see a wobbly smile past that gross beard.

"Aw Haru-Chan... yer gonna make me cry." He stepped towards them, kneeling in front of her and bringing a hand up to ruffle her hair a bit. "You wouldn't wanna make me cry now would ya?" He pouted out his lip and looked up at her with feigned sad eyes. She giggled and shook her head. A smile returned to his face as quickly as it left.

"Good!" He stood up quick enough to give himself whiplash and turned towards the mouth of the alleyway, "Ey Twinkletoes! We have a gal on the nice list that's waiting patiently for her Christmas gifts! Will ya hurry it up!"

Upon Majima's request, a man dressed in a stereotypical elf costume, that looked suspiciously like Nishida, came scrambling into the back alleyway. He was holding way too many stuffed dolls for one man to carry all alone. Most of them looked like prizes from the UFO catcher at the arcade. Each stuffed doll had a little bow wrapped around some part of its body in an attempt to put some sort of wrapping on them. The stack had every color and size variety of every doll you could win.

Kiryu distantly wondered if Majima had won all of these by himself or if he had found out where to buy all of them. Kiryu couldn't imagine Majima spending his day mowing down cash on a UFO catcher in the arcade, but then again it was also very believable. The man was unpredictable

Kiryu glanced over at Haruka. Her face was covered in shock and she had that wonderful childlike wonderstruck look in her eyes at the pile of toys held in poor elf-Nishida's arms. Even if Kiryu had to deal with Majima's antics, that look on her face was worth it.

"All of those are for me Majima-Ojisan?" She seemed to be stuck in a permanent gasp. Majima didn't correct her this time. He only nodded.

"Of course. You were a really good gal this year, and good gals get good toys." He explained as if it was obvious. She smiled so brightly, Kiryu was sure he could see Majima's heart melting into a puddle on the pavement.

"Anaki..." Nishida piped up as he struggled to balance the weight of all of the stuffed toys in his arms.

"I'll grab some--" Kiryu offered, taking a step forward to grab some of the dolls, but was quickly interrupted by a sharp interjection from Majima.

"Kiryu-Chan, only elves can touch the presents." His tone was teasing, but his face was darkened and serious. Kiryu backed off and Nishida continued to struggle. "If you drop a single one of princes Haruka's presents Nishida, I swear ta God--"

"Why don't you come inside?" Kiryu quickly interrupted before Majima started slinging threats. Nishida quickly nodded.

Their gangly group made their way up the stairs and to the door of their apartment, and Kiryu quickly fished out his keys from the pocket of his jacket. Once produced he wasted no time opening the door wide for everyone to start filing in. Nishida looked like his arms were about to give out at any moment. Eventually, all four of them squeezed into the apartment's tiny half living room-half kitchen set up, and Nishida quickly got to work putting the dolls under the small Christmas tree set up they had going.

Haruka took off her jacket and handed it to Kiryu, who moved by habit and put her jacket on the coat rack near the door. He then kneeled down to her height and quickly unzipped her boots, helping her take off the soaked shoes one at a time. Majima, not wanting to just hang in the doorway and stare as they did their routine, quickly toed off his shoes and went to help Nishida with the presents. He helped the only way he could-- by barking orders as to how Nishida was meant to perfectly place each and every doll under the tree.

The tree wasn't the biggest, only standing about four and a half feet tall, and some of the synthetic branches seemed to be missing judging by the gaps in the tree's formation. It was heavily decorated to compensate for it. Two different kinds of strings of lights were wrapped around the outer layer of branches, one in a usual rainbow tint and the other in white color.

The ornaments that hung from the tree all seemed to be homemade. A lot of them made with varying colors of popsicle sticks hot glued together to make certain shapes. One a reindeer made from a formation of brown popsicle sticks and googly eyes, another a Christmas tree made from green sticks and little beads as ornaments. The only ornaments on the tree that weren't homemade were two Bun-chan decorations made from cheap plastic that seemed like a limited edition prize from the arcade. One was in the pink variety and the other in the yellow.

The look of it was so sickeningly domestic in Majima's opinion. He could imagine Kiryu bringing home an old battered Christmas tree he found on the street, then he and Haruka making do with what they have and turning it into their own. It brought a smile to his face.

"Put that one there, Twinkletoes. Hey!! Don't you fuckin' dare knock over that ornament that princess Haruka took so much time to make!" Majima growled, kneeling down to adjust a popsicle stick figure of Kiryu that Nishida had bumped into, complete with his signature outfit and a frown drawn on in sharpie.

"Majima no nii-san," Majima shot Kiryu a look over his shoulder when he was called the wrong name, but let him continue, "Would you and-- uh... your elf want some shortcake? I think there's enough for all four of us." He bought a small cake for Christmas this year since he expected it to just be him and Haruka. He neglected to remember that he had another person intruding in on his life nowadays.

"Sounds good Kiryu-Chan." Majima grinned. Nishida seemed to perk up at the invitation for cake, which made Majima quickly turn towards him and continue snapping orders.

Kiryu stepped into the kitchen half of the room and went to the fridge in search of the Christmas Cake. While he did that, Haruka made herself useful and began to sift through the rack of dining wear that sat on the kitchen countertop, pulling out four small plates and forks, as well as a knife to cut the cake with.

After a few moments of Kiryu cutting up the cake and Haruka carefully placing each piece on their own respective plate, they walked back over to the other half of the room balancing two plates in hand. Haruka made her way over to Nishida first and handed him his slice. Majima pouted out of view.

"Thank you, Nishida." She whispered over to him as she handed him his slice. If she spoke too loud and Majima heard, she was sure Nishida would receive worse than a threat. He gave a curt nod and a small smile before taking his cake from her. She then turned to Majima and handed him his own.

"Aw thank ya, Haru-Chan. This is why you're on the nice list." He cooed, one hand balancing the plate with almost masterful precision while the other reached over to pat her head.

Kiryu placed Haruka and his own slices on the kotatsu that sat largely in the middle of the room, allowing them the opportunity to warm their cold feet after dipping their toes in freezing puddles the whole evening. The four of them sat together, eating their cake in comfortable silence.

"Santa Majima, you want to know what me and Ojisan were talking about on our way home?" Haruka perked up, licking the remnants of vanilla frosting from her fork.

"Sure." Majima shrugged.

"We were talking about animal facts."

"Animal facts huh?"

"Yeah, but like weird ones. Did you know that an octopus has three hearts?" Haruka parroted what Kiryu had said earlier. Majima's face shifted into exaggerated surprise.

"Really?" His Kansai accent shone through as his voice pitched up, "I had no idea. What do ya think they need that many hearts for?" Haruka paused at the question, actually taking a moment to think about it.

"Maybe they need one to stay alive, and then the other two contain all their love." Majima laughed at that.

"That’s a lot of love to hold on to. What do you think they love so much that they'd need so many hearts?" Again, she paused, taking the opportunity to take a bite of her cake as she pondered.

"Maybe for their families? Or maybe even a lover? Do octopus have lovers?"

"I'm sure they do. It would be sad if they had all those hearts to store their love and they didn't have anyone to share it with." Kiryu’s pretty sure his teeth were rotting with how sweet this conversation was... or maybe it was the cake. He didn't miss Majima's subtle glances over at him during this conversation. He was sure the other man was purposefully seeking out a flush from him, and he was succeeding.

"True. If I had all those hearts filled with love, I would want to share it with Ojisan!" Scratch that, both of them were tyrants attempting to ruin his reputation. Majima looked over at Kiryu, holding his face in his hand as he leaned over on it.

"I'd want to share it with your Ojisan if I had those hearts too." God. Damn. Tyrants.

Kiryu cleared his throat when the heat over his cheeks became too unbearable for him to just sit there any longer. He ate the last bite of his cake and stood from his spot under the kotatsu. He did not miss the heat on his legs as much as he originally thought he would. At the moment he just wanted to cool down.

Haruka rushed and shoved the last few pieces of her cake into her mouth, earning her a quiet scold from Kiryu before he took her fork and plate. He then proceeded to take Majima and Nishida’s as well. He noticed that Nishida’s had been licked clean.

He quickly took their dishes and washed them off before returning to the other half of the living room. He noticed that Nishida seemed to be missing now, probably leaving by Majima's order. Majima now sat lounging under kotatsu across from Haruka, the two of them continuing to talk about octopus-- Majima beginning to go on a rant about the environment and octopus populations.

Haruka stayed as interested in the conversation as she could, but after a while, she let out a yawn and realized that it had gotten much harder to leave her eyes open. That's when Kiryu glanced up at the clock on the far wall of the room and realized that it was already 11:30.

"Haruka," He called, getting her and Majima's attention. Majima seemed huffy that his rant had been interrupted. "Don't you think you should head to bed? I know hanging out with Santa Majima is fun, but you don't want Mr.Santa to not come because you're up too late." Her eyes widened when he spoke as if she had forgotten that Santa was something she had to worry about entirely.

"Right!" She quickly scrambled up from the kotatsu, rubbing her eyes tiredly as she did. She paused for a moment before she went to get ready for bed. "Can I bring a doll to bed?" She pointed towards the pile of dolls beneath the tree.

"Of course." Kiryu stepped over to the tree and kneeled down beside it. He shifted through the dolls before settling on grabbing a stray Woo-Kun. He held it up. "How about this one?" She nodded and took the doll from his hands, squeezing it close in a hug.

"Why don't you say thank you to Santa Majima before you get ready for bed?" He added.

"Santa Majima-Ojisan, thank you so much for the gifts!" She exclaimed, turning to him. She walked up to him and wrapped her arms around him in a warm embrace. Majima tensed for a moment, not exactly expecting the affection. But, he quickly melted into it and hugged her back twice as tight.

"No problem princess Haruka-chan! I always go above and beyond for gals on the nice list." He hummed, ruffling up her hair a bit when they pulled apart. She gave him one last smile before turning and walking towards the door to her small room. Then it was just Majima and Kiryu.

"Where'd you get all of these?" Kiryu asked, squeezing at a particularly puffed up pink bun-chan.

"Earned them all with hard work and dedication! You'd be amazed at what I can do with a whole day and a shit ton of cash." Kiryu hummed.

"You didn't just mug a particularly lucky kid at the arcade?" He mused, crawling over on the floor to sit next to Majima. Majima placed a hand on his chest as if he was offended.

"How dare you accuse me of theft Kiryu-Chan! I earned every doll honestly I promise." He looked over at him and produced pinky between them, "Pinky promise." Kiryu rolled his eyes at the childish gesture. He hooked their pinkies together anyway, and with the new leverage, he pulled the other man closer. He went to lean in for a kiss but then paused when the synthetic beard tickled at his chin. He huffed and brought his other hand up to tug the gross costume piece beneath his chin before he collided their lips together in a swift kiss.

"Aren't you slick?" Majima hummed when they pulled apart, his hand pulling away to instead wrap his arms around Kiryu's neck.

"How do you wear that thing, it has to be itchy as hell." He gestured to the beard. Majima shrugged.

"Ya get used to it after a while. But I have a whole new appreciation for people that dress up as the big man." He sighed, ripping the garment off now that he didn't need it anymore... especially since it got in the way of his Kiryu kisses. He tugged Kiryu forward by the back of his neck and connected them in a kiss once more, this one lasting longer than the last. Kiryu wrapped his arms around the older man's waist and pulled him close.

"You know, she loves it when you hang out with her, Goro." Kiryu pulled away slightly to comment against his lips. A shiver ran down Majima's spine at the use of his first name. He ran his fingers through Kiryu’s hair and gently massaged the scalp, earning him a pleased hum in response.

"I know." He paused for a moment before sheepishly adding, "I'm glad." Kiryu smiled, connecting their lips once more. But soon their kissing session was interrupted by Haruka loudly clearing her throat.

"M' ready to go to bed Ojisan!" She called from her door frame, clutching the Woo-Kun doll so tightly to her side he looked like he could suffocate. She wore her new pajamas that were covered in tiny reindeer and carefully wrapped presents, and she rubbed her tired eyes before turning and walking back into the confines of her room. Kiryu turned to Majima once again, pressing their foreheads together for a moment and pressing one last short kiss on his lips before pulling away and standing up.

"I'll put her to bed and then I'll be back." He offered when Majima gave him a childish pout at his absence. "Maybe then Santa Majima can help Mr.Santa set up the presents, and then we can have some alone time." He said much quieter, making sure Haruka couldn't hear him.

"I like the sound of that." Majima leaned back and smirked up at the younger man, earning him an eye roll before he turned and headed towards Haruka's room.

As Majima sat there, toes being warmed by the kotatsu, Christmas lights reflecting on the ceiling above him, and the distant sound of Kiryu’s deep rumbling voice telling Haruka of all the wonders Mr.Santa was doing this Christmas night, he let out a small sigh at how domestic it all felt. It was sickeningly sweet, and yet he couldn't help but love it-- if he was allowed again, he would want to do this every year. The mental image of spending Christmas with Kiryu and Haruka, eating Christmas cake, and talking about octopi, all sounded delightful to him.

His train of thought was interrupted when Kiryu tip-toed out of Haruka's room, carefully closing the door behind him slow enough for it to not creak. Kiryu returned back to his side in a moment, pressing a kiss to his cheek and running his hand in the shaven undercut of his hair.

"Help me with the gifts will you?" He requested with a whisper. Majima nodded, and at that moment he realized this was going to be a long night. He wouldn't have it any other way.

#kazumaji #kazuma kiryu #goro majima #goro brain rot #comfort character #haruka sawamura #my writing #my fic #yakuza #fluff #domestic fluff #christmas #christmas fluff #nishida yakuza #santa majima #probably not too accurate to an actual japanese christmas but I tried

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soulmate-game · 4 years ago

Text

This isn’t my usual Maribat, but I am testing out a new story just to get the creative juices flowing. This is a One Piece and Pokémon crossover, starring a Sylveon named Fae. Based off of/inspired by “the smallest straw hat” on fanfiction.net. It’s a new style and type of story from my usual, but I wanted to try it out. I love “The Smallest Straw Hat,” and I couldn’t help but wanna try out my own addition to the world, even if it isn’t canon. And I... kinda love Sylveon? like a lot?

—*—*—*—*—*

Everyone has their stereotypes about the color pink. And bows. Girly, they say with either fondness or disgust. Childish, they say with either nostalgia or scorn. Weak, they say. Because apparently “childish” and “girly” are both synonymous with “this thing/person is powerless,” or “useless,” or “worthless.”

Heh. I parade down the streets of the latest town I managed to reach, ears and tail raised high in show of my pride to be pink. Sure, I had my natural bows of fur that were just, well, part of me. And sure, I was mostly pink and white. But such was the design of every Sylveon, and most of my race were actually male. So. Everyone who immediately wrote us, and by extension me, off as being a girl just because of my appearance royally pissed me off.

I was proud to be pink. Nobody in their right mind, who knew anything about Pokémon, dared to treat a Sylveon as a weakling.

If they did, I’d make sure they knew better soon enough.

But alas, I wasn’t anywhere near Home. Back Home, everyone knew about Pokémon. We are everywhere. But all the way out here, where I was sure hardly any other Pokémon have ever ventured? Not a single human seemed to know the word, and by extension the entire species, even existed. The animals out here were all…

Normal.

Even more normal than Normal types. It was… jarring, at first. But I got used to it after a while. Life on the oceans, jumping from island to island on whatever ship I could get on, was fun. Compared to back Home, the living things out here didn’t surprise me often. So I could just enjoy everything I saw and did.

After That Day, the pure-hearted adventure was welcome.

“What is that?” And here come the whispers. Humans don’t seem to change much, no matter where I go. Fingers pointed at me, not expecting me to be fully aware of what they were saying and doing, as I garnered stares just by walking down the street.

“Some kinda fox, it’s gotta be with those ears and snout. I’ve never seen a pink and white fox before though!”

“Those bows look so real, like they could be part of the thing’s body!”

“No way that’s a fox, it’s gotta be a weird cat!”

“Those are bunny ears. Maybe it’s a mutated rabbit!”

I ignored everyone. It wasn’t like they would understand me anyway. A few brave thugs tried to tackle and grab me, but I’m no hatchling. I easily pranced and jumped out of their grasp, humming a random tune under my breath as I did so. Figuring a little fun wouldn’t hurt, I chanced them a little wink and channeled a bit of my charm. The weak-willed dolts were slumped in a pile in seconds, too enamored by my cuteness to even move. Chuckling, I just turned and pranced away.

Humans really never change.

Screams erupted, making me pause. I whipped my head around, trying to find the source of the sound. It was accompanied by the crackling of flames and thumps of heavy things being knocked over.

Too familiar. Too, too familiar.

I grit my jaw, turning as soon as I located the direction the cacophony was coming from and running straight for it. I might be a Pokémon, but I couldn’t stand screams. I failed my Home, my family. I was damned if I didn’t try my best not to fail people in peril again. Even if it was just humans, I had to try to help.

I had to.

Such was part of the reason I traveled. I was enjoying my adventure, sure, but there were two other reasons I didn’t try to head back Home. One; I was searching for someone. Two; as soon as I realized that Pokémon didn’t exist outside of Home, I decided I had to use my powers to help anyone I could. Heh. Guess a certain old friend of mine rubbed off on me, now I’m running into danger constantly without any plans. They’d be so proud.

Sliding around a corner, I finally saw it. Almost an entire street was aflame, the flags that flew just off the shore stopping me in my tracks for a second.

Marines.

I had spent enough time out on the seas to know how corrupt the supposed “good guys,” could be. Hiding under my breath, I ran toward the first burning building I could see. If there was anyone stuck inside, I had to get to them. But as I got to the door, I had to stumble back to avoid being trampled as a large, blond man came out carrying two passed out bodies over his shoulders. My squeak of surprise apparently caught his attention, and for a moment his black eyes met mine. He paused, scanning the street for a second before continuing on.

I followed him. I don’t know why, but something told me he got everyone left in that building, and was trying to finish getting those last two to safety. Regardless, I had no idea what was going on and he seemed to. For now, I’d get my cues from him.

He made his way to a large ship with a dragon figurehead, and I leapt to hide behind the corner of a not-burning building to watch as he handed the wounded people on his shoulders off to apparent allies of his before he took off again. Once more, I followed. This time, before he could even touch the door to another building that was on fire, I beat him there.

I let my ribbons expand, feeling as they started to glow. The light attracted his attention soon enough, making the man pause. He put a hand on the pipe that I now noticed was on his back, but otherwise only watched me. Satisfied that he wasn’t going to attack, I focused back on the building and let the power from my ribbon-feelers build up in front of my snout. Opening my mouth, I set off the move with a roar. My voice was the final trigger, power blasting out from my mouth in the form of a giant storm of winds, clashing into each other and whirling madly until they hit the building. The force of my fairy wind put out the flames on the whole building, though it left me slightly short of breath. I turned my head back to the blond, nodding my head to the building.

He grinned at me, taking his hand off his pipe and rushing into the building without me having to try to get the message across a second time.

That was when the footsteps stole my attention, and I whirled around. A veritable army of Marines was headed straight for me— no, straight for the building I had just put out. They were after the blond man.

I felt a growl build up in the back of my throat, quickly separating my legs and taking a fighting stance. The blond was one of the few people I could see actually trying to help with this horrid situation, I wouldn’t let anyone get in his way! But if there’s one good thing about everything I’ve been through, it’s that fighting is nothing new to me. I’d take care of these jerks, and buy that blond guy time to save as many people as he could.

As usual, nobody seemed to take the sight of me seriously. The marines seemed just about ready to run me over, but I wasn’t about to allow that.

“Idiots. You won’t pass me!” I shouted, though all they heard was “Sylveon! Eon!”

Taking a deep breath, I once again channeled my power into my feelers. Letting them raise and float straight up in the air, I narrowed my eyes and sang the tune that came naturally to me at that point. My voice rang through the air as if there were no other sounds to muffle it, as if there were no screams or flames or crumbling buildings at all. As my short song echoed unnaturally across the street, a thick fog burst into being around my feet before quickly spreading until it covered the entire block and went ten feet high. Only the area directly behind me was spared, since I didn’t want to hinder the blond man that I was doing this to protect.

The magical cloud of fog was thick and almost viscous, and it merely swayed in place instead of moving like a normal fog. It hung there, taunting and obstructing the marine assholes caught inside. I could hear the fumbles and curses as they began to trip over on another, unable to get their bearings. But merely stalling them wasn’t enough. Steadying myself, it had been a while since I had had a proper fight, I raised my head and changed my tone. Focusing on the people I could feel trapped in my fog, I let loose a siren-like wail that I knew from experience burrowed itself into the brains of those that I targeted with it. It didn’t even take a second for the screams of pain to rise up from within the fog, but I knew that it wasn’t enough to knock any of them out.

I sighed; sure defending and attacking strategically was a strong point of mine, but that didn’t mean it was very exciting. I admit, I might have a bit of an adrenaline addiction. I like fighting up close, so what? But that wasn’t my job, right then I had to just stall these guys so that—

“I got them out, nice job,” the voice that came from behind me made me jump, and I turned around to see the very man I had decided to stall for. He grinned widely at me, his mouth almost making a full D shape. “These guys aren’t too strong, but they would have slowed me down for sure. But there were more people than I anticipated in those buildings, mind giving me a hand?” He jerked his head behind him. Blinking, I followed the gesture and almost fell over. At least ten people, all in various stages of injury or unconsciousness, were strewn on the sidewalk. No way that came all from the one building I put out! How fast was this guy?

A loud laugh drew my attention back to the blond, who was nearly doubled over with his cackling. “Y-y-you’re face! Hahahaha! Don’t be so surprised, little thing. I’m good at what I do. Now come on, think you can help me carry some of them? I think I can take four or five, how many can you get?”

I puffed out my cheeks, raising my head with a confident huff as I let my ribbons stretch out. “Sylvie!” These things aren’t just for show, ya know!

Walking forward and ignoring the heavy weight of the man’s stare as he watched me, I let each of my ribbons lift up two people each. The ones that were still conscious seemed to think that I was some fever dream, which at least kept them from struggling too much since they weren’t going to fight what they thought was a hallucination. I turned proudly, smiling at the man. See? Child’s play. You get the rest. “Eon? Sylvie Sylvie.”

He clearly didn’t understand me, but chuckled anyway. “Nice, you’re stronger than you look, for such a tiny thing,” watch it. “I’ll follow behind you with the rest, did you see the boat that I took the others to? Go there, my friends will know how to help these guys.”

I nodded, not waiting to see the blond grab the last three victims before I ran off in the direction of the dragon-designed ship. I actually scoffed a bit. No matter where I went, there was always something related to dragons. Why were humans so obsessed with those things anyway? They weren’t that impressive.

“Hey! What’re you doing with— oh, you’re handing them to me?” A girl with orange hair was waiting at the boarding platform for the ship, and seemed ready to fight until I all but shoved the people I was carrying at her. “Oh. Well, thanks?”

“Don’t worry, this little thing helped me out back there,” the blond had caught up, smiling at the woman as he handed off his own victims to someone else nearby. “Let’s get these guys to the infirmary, yeah? Wanna come with us, little one? The marines aren’t likely to forget you, you kinda stand out.”

I tilted my head. He had a point, I wasn’t exactly a stealthy Pokémon when it came to my appearance. And attacking marines was bound to get me in trouble later.

The blond seemed to notice my reluctance to just go off with strangers, and chuckled again before walking over and kneeling in front of me. “I guess it would help if I introduced myself, huh? You seem to understand me just fine. My name’s Sabo. I’m part of the revolutionary army, just like everyone on this ship,” he gestured to the boat behind him. “That girl is my friend Koala. What’s your name?”

“Sylveon.”

Sabo blinked, furrowing his brows a little. “Sylveon? What are you, then?”

“Sylveon,” honestly, dealing with humans who weren’t from Home was exhausting. Always the same questions, and I could never answer them any easier than I could before.

“Huh? Is that all you can say, your name?”

I huffed, already frustrated by this stupid language barrier. “Sylveon. Sylvi, syl, Eon. Sylveon.”

“So, Sylveon is the name of your species?” I nodded, close enough. “And that is all you can say? Variations of your name?” I nodded again. Finally, we were getting places. Sabo rocked back on his heels, humming as he observed me. “Can I call you Silky-Chan?”

Oh. Hell no. I growled, narrowing my eyes. Apparently that was amusing, because he just laughed at me.

“Come on, Silky-Chan. We can figure out more about you later, but we should go before they send stronger marines.”

I grumbled under my breath at the stupid nickname he gave me, but followed him on board anyway. If nothing else, he seemed interesting. I could always jump overboard when we got close to another island if I wanted to get away.

—*—*—*—*—*

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #pokemon #ONE PIECE x Pokémon crossover #Sylveon in ONE PIECE #Sylveon #Sylveon OC #Sabo #Sabo and Sylveon friendship!

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of-wrens-and-whirlwinds-blog · 4 years ago

Text

Smokey the Bear (Reboot)

Commission for a lovely person who wishes to remain anonymous! I loved working with your ideas and character, thank you for commissioning me!

If you would like to commission me, please head to my About page, link in my blog description!

“But Bellaaa, I want to come too!” Kristopher whined, tailing his sister to her personal flight. “I can be helpful!”

Izabella sighed heavily, taking a cigar out of her box and stuffing it in the corner of her mouth. She wouldn’t light it until she landed, but it was comforting. “You have to stay, Kris,” she said firmly. “There isn’t room in the cannon. And no one is expecting me to bring a little kid.”

Kris, only four years younger than her seventeen years, hit her bicep in annoyance. Izabella smacked the top of his head with the flat of her palm. “I love you, you demon,” she said, and bent to kiss his forehead. “We still have communications, remember? And I’m counting on you to blow some stuff up, alright?” She grinned slyly, and he bounced on his toes, grinning right back. “Make Babushka proud.”

“Yeah!” Kris cheered. “I can help aim the cannon!”

“Excellent!”

Izabella packed her bag while Kris readied the cannon’s coordinates. Everything that could be vacuum-packed, was. Her gadgets either folded or were compact enough to be stacked so no space was wasted. Izabella swung on her bearskin coat, and then attached the bag to her front. After a check with Kris, Izabella slid down inside the barrel of the cannon, wiggled into position, and called, “Aim!”

The cannon turned ponderously to face the right direction. Under the cold winter moon, the landscape was grey as a charcoal sketch. Mountains, trees, brilliant stars…

The cannon adjusted height. Izabella yelled, “Fire!”

(A group of young boys who had made an illicit bonfire looked up in terror as an enormous boom shook the air. There was a small projectile ascending into the sky, twinkling like a star. The boys hastily stomped out their fire and ran home.)

“Tell us what happened,” the grizzled interviewer told the witness, with the perfect stereotypical gruffness.

The witness, the teenage heir to a tech company far too big for him, considered lying. She might come back if he lied. One glance at the interviewer shot that hope down, so he began speaking.

“She was really pretty. Red hair, blue eyes, absolutely gorgeous. She was wearing this enormous, like, fur coat? I mean, I know it’s autumn, but it wasn’t that cold.” The interviewer raised his eyebrow; the witness gulped. “She also had a cigar, a huge one, like a cartoon, y’know? It was legit scary, man. She was Russian, too.”

The interviewer’s eyes narrowed. “What did she do?” he growled.

The witness had a fleeting thought that he didn’t want to be James Bond anymore. “We were at the yacht club, there wasn’t much to do. She was drinking whiskey and smoking that huge cigar and everyone was taking turns talking to her. She was friendly enough, but… when I went to say hello, she said hi back, and while we were talking she said--well, she said I shouldn’t tell anyone…”

“We are the police, sonny.”

The witness nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir, sorry. She told me that the English monarchy was weakening. She said she was warning me, in case my dad was involved in England. Which he is. He’s anti-monarchy. I called my dad after the party--”

“Why?” the interviewer interrupted, looking even more annoyed, if that were possible. The witness rubbed his sweaty palms on his knees.

“Because I wanted him to know. If she was warning me, maybe she wanted to warn him, too. I dunno, okay?! She was nice and gave me this lighter thing--”

“What lighter thing?”

The witness fumbled in his pocket and brought out a thing shaped like an old-fashioned metal cigarette lighter. As he put it on the table, almost slamming it, the lid clicked open.

There was a bark like a small-caliber gun, and out of the lighter came--

--Silly String.

The witness screamed and fell off his chair. The interviewer jumped to his feet and tried to save his notes, but the oily surface of the rapidly-expanding foam had smudged and smeared his ink writing to illegibility.

When two other officers burst in, the witness was curled in a corner, sobbing, and the interviewer was staring into the distance with a grim expression.

“It’s that Izzy girl,” he said, with complete conviction.

(The boy was inconsolable and had to be sent home on a private jet to his mother’s house over the border. When the captain heard the interviewer’s oral report, she shook her head and said, “Red hair? It can’t have been Izzy. She’s blond, remember? With curls.”)

Izabella lit her cigar and puffed on it a few times before entering the meeting room, Kristopher at her side. They were both on their best behavior, and dressed to the nines; Izabella in her sumptuous furs, and Kristopher in a new suit in olive brown. The heels of Izabella’s shoes tapped a brisk rhythm.

“Hello, boys,” she drawled, pausing in the doorway to breathe out a cloud of smoke. She then stuck the cigar back in her mouth and swaggered over to the remaining chair at the foot of the table. Crossing her ankles neatly, her next exhale was in rings. Kris stood at attention beside her, his face emotionless.

“We are not boys for you to command, young lady,” snapped a tall man with a Portuguese accent. The Australian on his left gripped his wrist lightly.

The four other Russian men chuckled softly. “She’s in command, alright,” said Gustav, who was sent to Ukraine when he was small to escape government assassins and still had the faintest accent. “Do not worry. She will make sure we have what we need.”

Izabella smiled brightly, then took off her tall fur hat to reveal a bottle of whiskey balanced perfectly among her curls. All of the men at the table cheered, and drinks were poured for everyone, though Kris’s was watered down quite a bit. When everyone was feeling looser, Izabella said, “I have planted seeds of doubt, and heightened tensions with clever paperwork. Your way to revenge is clearing. Kris, the hologram please.”

Kris took off his watch and placed it neatly in front of her, face down. With a subtle flick of his fingernail, a beam rose and spread, to show an office building slowly rotating. The building was quite normal, except for the eighteen red squares in various strategic points.

“This is my plan,” Izabella explained, leaning forward. “I will compromise this building, after securing the information in its mainframe. And then your men can swoop into the police station while the officers are busy, and take back your mole.”

“Will this work?” asked the Australian.

Izabella smiled and raised her glass. “We shall hope so.”

(After the meeting, the Portuguese man was seen flying off into space, twinkling like a midnight star. No one asked questions.)

The teenager striding down the hall of the office building, talking on her phone loudly in accented English, caused more than one curious worker to stare, baffled.

She was slight and pretty and wore cat-eye sunglasses, her hair perfectly curled, a slinky black dress, and a fur coat that was pulled off her shoulders and bunched up on her biceps. Her brooch was a silk flower, startling in its bright pinkness.

“No, Kris, no!” she was saying as she walked straight into the CEO’s office. “I told you, Mama said to not touch the telephone! If it is the men, they will find you.” She stopped in the middle of the room, and seemed to notice the CEO and his guests for the first time. She smiled, and said, “Hello! I’ll call you back, Kris. Yes, yes, I’ll tell Papa.”

She snapped her phone shut as she pulled it away from her ear, and kept it level with her cheek as she struck a pose and asked sweetly, “Mr. Ama-zone, I presume?”

“Ah. It’s Bezos,” the CEO corrected. “Who are you?”

“Mascha. You talked to my Papa a few days ago. He asked me to come by for your answers.” The girl flipped one heavy lock of hair out of her face, then pulled a paper-wrapped gumball out of her pocket, and let the paper float to the floor when she unwrapped the sweet. Popping it in her mouth, she chewed quickly, then continued, “Papa is rather unhappy, as well. Something about overdue payments.”

The men in suits at the conference table glanced at each other, Bezos, and the girl. Bezos looked rather pale as he smiled and replied, “There must’ve been a mixup. I haven’t talked to anyone from Russia in a long time.”

The girl sighed dramatically and swaggered across the room to lean on the window, so Bezos had to turn to keep an eye on her. This also meant that he didn’t notice the other men watching the exchange with wide eyes. “Mr. Bezoss, do not play games with my Papa,” she retorted. “He will bring his men here, and your company will go poof!” She snapped her fingers for emphasis. “He wants his payment. He wants it now.” She smiled again, innocent as spring. One of the other businessmen was texting furiously; another had laid down his mobile with the mic pointing up.

Bezos cleared his throat, and pressed a button on his own mobile, under the table. The girl’s sweet smile became a smirk. Bezos’s eyebrows twitched, but he spoke strongly. “I don’t owe anyone anything. I don’t know who you are or why you keep dropping hints about a man being angry, so my staff will have to escort you away.”

Silence fell on the office.

The girl took her gum out of her mouth, tossed it into the waste basket, and took a cartoonishly large cigar out of a different pocket. A plain silver lighter was next. She lit the cigar, put the lighter back, and took a deep draw on said cigar, letting the smoke billow out of her nose.

Bezos was sweating. So were his compatriots. More of them were sending emergency texts and alerts.

“Mr. Bezoss,” the girl said kindly, “Perhaps you should check on your staff.”

Every man there jumped to their feet, and pelted for the door. Izabella trotted over and locked it, then gathered all the wallets and personal gadgetry left behind and tucked them into her coat’s inner pockets. Finally, she plugged a tiny USB into Bezos’ computer, and set it to siphon what her employer wanted. It was designed by Kristopher, and made by a Swiss watchmaker they knew. It finished in about three minutes; plenty of time for these foolish Americans to realize the entire building was now blocked from any electric communication.

When the computer binged, Izabella sighed dramatically and sat up. With four key taps in quick succession, she unleashed the virus also hidden on the USB. It began to systematically purge the computer’s data, and spread from there, attaching to every connection it could until the entire building began to shut down, and police started yelling outside the locked door.

Izabella tapped her cigar, and the ashes fell on the specially-formulated gumball, which burst into flame. She smiled at the fire, then turned and drew a glass-cutting blade from her sleeve to quickly slice out a hole in the window that was supposed to be indestructible. Just as she prepared to climb out, she drew her lighter again, and flicked it three times.

Bombs hidden throughout the building began to go off, within seconds of each other, and destroying the structure of the building. Izabella threw herself out the window, landing in the window cleaner’s hoist positioned just so to catch her, and smacked the brake on the rope. It plummeted immediately, and Izabella shrieked with glee as explosions and the rumble of crumbling concrete surrounded her.

(She escaped unharmed, somehow, covered in stone-dust and ash. Gustav and his men had fetched their mole, and when she joined them, they nodded solemnly and followed her to the vans. Later, the interviewer from Alaska (who had been reassigned to California) heard the details and told his captain that he knew it was that Izzy girl. The captain frowned and said, “Izzy? No, no, she smokes cigars constantly. This girl chewed gum.”)

“Babushka!”

Kris and Izabella flung themselves at their grandmother, who laughed warmly and hugged them back, with much kissing of their cheeks.

“Ah, so how are my two little kittens?” she asked, hauling Kris into her lap while Izabella sat on the foot stool beside the rocking chair. “How much have you brought your babushka?”

“So much!” Kris crowed. “Almost a BILLION rubles!”

“No, it’s two hundred and fifty thousand rubles, three million American dollars, half a million Lybian dinars, a few thousand in various other currencies, and five pledges of partnership from various governments,” Izabella corrected, and stuck her cigar in her mouth again.

“Ah,” Babushka sighed mournfully, shaking her head. “Ah, my kittens. When I was your age, I was blackmailing royalty and undermining continents.”

“It’s harder now, Babushka!” Izabella protested. “You were a duchess! Kris isn’t even an adult!”

“Neither are you,” Kris sniped.

Babushka shushed them both and stroked Izabella’s hair. “I was teasing, vnuk,” she said, the corners of her wise, bright eyes crinkling. “Tell me what you did to that Egyptian banker.”

“Oh, Babushka, it was amazing! Kris made these tiny microphones with nuclear batteries that I placed throughout the banker’s home, and we got results in three days! The information has been securely transferred to the Yamaguchi-gumi, who will send the final payment tomorrow.”

“If they don’t, I’ll crack into all the bank accounts the family controls,” Kris piped up.

“I used the shoulder-cannon on the man in London calling for the rejoining of Ireland under the English government,” Izabella said dreamily, blowing smoke rings. “Oh, Babushka, it was splendid. He flew up so high, he didn’t even leave a glimmer. I also dropped that pink poison-flower into the double-agent’s brandy, as instructed. He died in about twelve hours.”

Babushka shook her head. “We’ll have to have a talk with the chemists, kittens; that poison is supposed to be quicker,” she told them. “But in the meantime--let’s have some kholodets to celebrate another successful year!”

The two children cheered, and their babushka chuckled again.

(Babushka’s kholodets was made from a recipe passed down since before the Soviets, and most people who were given the honor of tasting it whispered to friends later that it was poisonous and had given them sores in their guts. All of Russia feared the Babushka and her grandchildren.)

The squadron of soldiers stood their ground, as the heavy, pink-painted tank drove toward them with complete disregard for anything else. Other soldiers had given up trying to break its track; this squad would not.

Carefully, one of them set a small, shallow, rectangular dish on the ground. It had wheels much like the tank, and an electric motor. A demolition expert gently attached a very strong bomb. An enlisted soldier brought out a radio remote.

The dish with its bomb jerked into life and whizzed across the bare field, which was scarred and streaked but mostly whole. The soldier with the remote drove the dish with her tongue poking out of her mouth, eyes flicking over the terrain and to the pink tank.

The dish and bomb swooped neatly under the tank.

“COVER!” the demolition expert roared, and everyone dropped back to the trench. She pressed a small button and dove in too.

The bomb went off, and the power of it literally blasted the tank apart at the seams. As the soldiers took deep breaths to cheer, they saw two people-shaped objects flung into the air. Somehow, their voices carried over the explosions of their tank giving way.

“I told you, Bella, I told you they would have a sneaky bomb--”

“Shut up, you’re the one who wanted to save weight with thinner plates--”

The shouting became too faint, as the figures became nothing more than glints in the sky. The soldiers looked at each other uneasily. One of them, a corporal, who used to be with the police, opened his mouth to speak.

“Wasn’t that Izabella, the spy?” whispered one of the enlisted soldiers.

“Nah,” whispered the other, “Neither of ‘em were wearing fur coats.”

The corporal turned around and started thumping his head against the earthen side of the trench in a consistent rhythm. Why. Why was everyone so stupid. Why.

(Later, the corporal was demoted for leading a ragtag group of soldiers from other squads to do something so dangerous. When he pointed out that they had actually been led by a captain, said captain shrugged and answered, “Wasn’t me.” The corporal went to his quarters and got drunk.)

Earth’s atmosphere was a boring place to be, but Izabella and Kristopher couldn’t really come down themselves; they had to wait for Gustav’s air balloon.

Izabella re-lit her cigar and puffed on it angrily. “This is your fault,” she grumbled, the thinness of the air softening her voice to a whisper.

“How is it my fault?” Kristopher snapped, throwing up his hands and immediately bringing them back down with a wince. Space always made his hands cold. “I told you there would be sneaks!”

“Then why did you make the tank so delicate?” Izabella retorted angrily. “Saving weight, saving gas, blah blah blah--Blyat! You’re worse than Anatoli.”

“Don’t you dare compare me to that labrat!”

The siblings continued bickering for several hours, floating and turning and twisting. Eventually they grabbed each other’s arms to argue at the same level, and the insults got truly vile, until Kristopher started crying. Izabella growled, but pulled him in against her and hugged her baby brother tightly.

“We’ll be fine, Kris,” she said. “Gustav is too afraid of Babushka to leave us up here forever.”

“I’m cold,” Kristopher sobbed, his tears drifting from his pale cheeks and falling into the clouds.

“I know, bubble-butt.” Izabella pressed their foreheads together. “When we get back to the ship, we’ll sit in front of the heater and watch that film you like, what is it? The Swan Princess? And we’ll drink hot cocoa and design a new tank, and you can tell me all the things I missed, and then we can paint each other’s nails. Alright?” Kristopher nodded. “Good. It’s okay.”

Not even ten minutes later, Izabella spotted the grey-blue balloon rising up to them slowly. “Ah!” she exclaimed, shaking Kristopher gently, “He’s here!”

(Returning to their base of operations on the warship, they did indeed watch The Swan Princess in front of the radiator, drinking hot cocoa. Gustav watched from the doorway for a moment, smiling softly, then walked away, leaving his children in peace.)

#crack treated seriously #original fiction #writing #writing commission #commissions open

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call-me-nerdy · 5 years ago

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Felix doesn't have "Vacations"

Felinette November Day 4; Vacation

It's late, sorry.

So I had a vague idea of what to do, but it went off the rails real quick. I'm not proud of the ending, but I'll live.

I couldn't finish this yesterday because of well, school. So I'll probably do a double update one of these days to catch up on schedule.

-----

Felix Agreste is endearing.

Semestral break crept up on Felix like a fox stalking an unsuspecting prey; slow and steady before pouncing on him with a hectic onslaught of extracurricular activities on his schedule.

Felix would say he was merely inconvenienced by the numerous 'hobbies' his mother had requested him to partake in, but that didn't mean he wasn't overwhelmed by her overeager plans.

The timetable was light in his hands, though it honestly seemed to weigh him down with every task that was printed on the pristine, white paper. Felix scanned the letters in disdain, a faint throbbing started to grow at the back of his head.

A modeling gig on Monday, followed by a violin recital on Tuesday. Wednesday entails a whole day rehearsal with the local Chamber Orchestra, and we are set to perform on Friday at night. I have to assist with the fencing classes on Thursday, and another modeling event on Friday afternoon before the performance. Add my daily study sessions and the projects I have to finish into the mix, and I'm positive that this is impossible to achieve.

Felix bit back a groan. He knew how awfully ambitious his mother could get, but even he had to admit that this was edging on to overkill at this point. The thought of Monday alone l was enough to drown his mind with poisonous dread– draining Felix of the motivation that he tried desperately to keep. It didn't help that these kinds of events were already preplanned appointments, locking Felix out of any opportunity to just *ditch* them in favor of laying on his bed with an absurd amount of sweets. Felix pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering words of frustration under his breath.

"Grumpy today, aren't we. What's on your mind?" The familiar voice rang clear, the scent of freshly baked bread tickled his nose. Felix looked up to meet cheeky, bluebell eyes staring back. Marinette smiled at him, a tray of freshly baked croissants in her hands.

Felix inhaled the aroma, savoring the phantom taste of croissants on his tongue. He sighed, reaching out for a croissant. "Keen-eyed as ever, Dupain-Cheng." Felix quickly retracted his arm when Marinette slapped it away.

"Not until you tell me why you're grumbling over there." She set the tray on the table, and with a swift movement, plopped down on the seat in front of Felix.

"My mother gave me my schedule for the week today. And because it's semestral break, she took extra care to make my vacation, and I quote, productive." Felix emphasized his point with air quotes, handing the paper to Marinette. "And as much as it is a nuisance, her overeager involvement in my extracurricular activities is barely an uncommon occurence."

Marinette winced, "Wow. This is overkill. Is this even a vacation anymore?"

"It's an eyesore." Felix grumbled, taking a croissant from the tray. The pastry broke easily in his mouth. Flaky and crisp, it melted into raw happiness on his tongue.

Marinette giggled, "Well, best of luck to you. I bet you can't even survive 'til next week without me." she challenged.

Felix clicked his tongue, "Oh, please. I may have a hectic schedule, but it's still a vacation from seeing you tripping on air every five minutes." he rolled his eyes, taking another bite of his croissant.

Marinette stuck out her tongue, "Maybe so. But admit it, you can't live without me for a whole week." she said as she took a croissant for herself

"Keep on dreaming, Dupain-Cheng. I can survive very well without your cheeky comments." Felix scoffed, only to recieve Marinette's smug smirk in return.

"We'll see, Agreste." She giggled, "We'll see."

-----

Marinette didn't like liars. In fact, she openly despised them.

Perhaps her hatred for untruths stemmed from her strong sense of justice; a trait that, although it was already prominent in her life before Ladybug, was carefully nurtured and encouraged by Tikki to the point that it was nearly a fault. Marinette wouldn't have it any other way.

Yes, she may lie on a semi-regular basis, but it was only always when she needed to get away to transform into Paris' superhero, Ladybug. Marinette hated lying almost as she hated liars themselves. And so when she came to the conclusion that she loved teasing Felix Agreste, who was she to deny the truth? Denying it would've made her as bad as Lila Rossi, and Marinette absolutely refused to be likened to that witch.

She couldn't help herself. Felix was the stereotypical 'Ice King' at surface level: cold, reserved, and refused to show any weakness at all costs. So seeing his pale cheeks rapidly color a shade of pink, and him trying so desperately and failing to fight the flush everytime that she jested and poked fun at his little quirks, – It was not only hilarious, but outright endearing.

Felix Agreste is endearing.

Last week was no different.

Felix arrived earlier than usual at the bakery. Hell, she had only woken up about thirty minutes prior to her Papa announcing that a friend was asking for her downstairs. Marinette scrambled to make herself presentable, and went downstairs rather chaotically with a few fresh bruises on her ankles. Armed with a tray of freshly baked croissants, she scurried to their usual table only to see Felix looking awfully grumpy in his seat — well, grumpier than he usually was. Marinette may be a sometimes most of the time, tripping over her feet and bumping into random objects. But make no mistake, that despite all her shortcomings, she was observant. Observant enough to notice the frustration that shaped Felix's frown and his troubled countenance as he bit down on his lip. She had noticed his narrowed eyes, scrunched up nose and the way his fists tightly clenched the paper he glared at so furiously.

And so she greeted him heartily, hiding her concern when she asked why he looked so glum.

Apparently, his mother had filled his whole week with events. A photoshoot here, a rehearsal there, it all seemed so taxing. Felix had claimed that his mother was merely 'overeager', and that he had survived such schedules multiple times in his past. Marinette would've voiced her opinion of his mother expecting too much from him, but she ultimately decided to bite back her assumptions until after she had actually met Ms. Agreste. Instead, she did the best she could to lift his spirits with a few innocent jokes.

When he left, she made sure to give him a bag full of sweet pastries to lighten his mood. She knew how that boy loved sugar.

She continued to send some pastries to him everyday, with little cheeky notes sneakily attached to the inside of the paper bags. Macarons, pain au chocolats, croissants, cookies and even straight up chocolate arrived to his doorstep every morning. Yes, every morning. Marinette had forced herself to wake up every Seven AM just to make the poor boy some sweets. Tikki teased her about it for hours.

Maman and Papa are rubbing off on her.

Nevertheless, she just wished that Felix wouldn't get hospitalized over exhaustion. Actually, Marinette prayed that he would be alive on their next Sunday Afternoon meetup.

Which was today.

Felix entered the bakery with a subtle skip in his step, gray eyes frantically scanning the whole room in search of something.

Of someone.

When Felix finally met her gaze, Marinette could've sworn that *relief* flickered in his eyes.

The boy walked hastily to their table, sitting across Marinette,

"A bit enthusiastic today, are you?Welcome back." Marinette handed him a cup of hot chocolate.

He took the cup, and nodded. Now that was strange, Marinette thought. She was so used to him having witty comebacks for her every bite. Why was Felix acting so bashful?

"Thank you for the pastries." He finally said, his voice was slow and uncertain.

"You're welcome! It's no problem at all!"

"..."

He was silent again.

"Hey, Fé. Is something wrong?" Marinette asked him gently. Her worry grew every second that Felix maintained his averted gaze.

She frowned. Did he have a fever? If he did, then he shouldn't have come here! Marinette reached over the table to put her hand on Felix's forehead.

Felix drew back in surprise, pink started to appear on the skin of his neck up to his cheeks.

"Do you have a fever, Fé?

Felix forced a scoff, "I... am perfectly fine, Dupain-Cheng."

She deadpanned, "It doesn't look like it."

"W-well, I am." Did Felix just stutter?

"Then why weren't you answering me?" Marinette frowned. Felix being unsure of himself was strange.

A guilty look flashed on Felix's expression, "... My apologies, Marinette. I was simply... panicked because of our previous conversation."

Marinette's eyes widened, "Oh my God."

"Yes, I– what?"

"You actually used my name!" She squealed, a grin stretching across her lips.

"I..." He trailed off, the pink on his skin grew a few shades darker.

Marinette gaped. Felix Agreste; Resident Salt King, honor student, overachiever, sharp-tongued, cool and collected Felix Agreste, was right in front of her with no witty comeback, as red as a tomato, avoiding her eyes and pouting? In what world?!

Then it hit her.

Felix was pouting.

She cackled. Uncontrollably cackled.

Oh my gosh, that's adorable.

"Pfft, Ahaha! Y-you should see your f-face!" Marinette wheezed, clutching her stomach in laughter.

Felix sat in front of her, his face was all red.

She gasped for breath, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Marinette wiped a tear. She cleared her throat, "Why were you worried?"

Felix took a deep breath, "Through a number of contemplations, as well as evidence of a few peculiar moments in the week, I have deducted that you were correct in your prediction." Felix sped through his sentence.

"Uhm, what?" Marinette could barely understand his overly convoluted words; he was more verbose than usual, an air of uncharacteristic awkwardness surrounded him.

"AllthroughouttheweekIfeltthattherewasalwayssomethinglackinginmyeverydaylifeIhadnoonetotalktoandgivemewittyremarksandthiscausedmetobescoldedsomanytimesbecauseIkeptspacingoutand—" Marinette's eyes widened.

"Felix, slow down!"

"Idon'tknowwhatI'mfeelingbecauseI'vebeverreallyhadarelationshipwithanyoneaboveacquaintancesandIdon'tevenknowifyouconsidermeafriendand–"

Marinette stood up and pinched his cheek.

"Felix! Calm. Down!" She cried. Felix snapped out of his wordy breakdown.

"Apologies." Felix cleared his throat.

He was worried about a previous conversation they had? She was correct in her predictions? What in the world–

Oh. Marinette thought back on their last meetup.

Ohhh.

"Wait. Are you saying that you missed me?" Marinette couldn't stop the glee that bubbled frantically in her chest.

Felix looked at his hands, "I... If that is the term, t-then I suppose so."

Marinette almost squealed.

"Oh my Kw- that was adorable." She gushed, pinching Felix's cheeks once more.

"Hmmpf–" His face glowed scarlet at this point, Felix his flustered expression behind cupped hands.

Felix Agreste is endearing, and Marinette couldn't understand why anyone would think otherwise.

#Felinette #Felix Agreste #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #ml #Miraculous Ladybug #No Creepy Adrien Clone #Felinette Month #Felinette November #Day 4 #Prompt #Vacation #Fluff #So much fluff

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pilot-boi · 4 years ago

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Shouting In Cafes: Chapter Eight

After Thoughts

Sun hasn’t shown up to the coffee shop in awhile, and Neptune might have caught slightly more feelings from their drive than he is prepared to deal with.

AO3 LINK

“I don’t like him, Jaune.”

“Really? Because after your little joy ride with him, you texted me freaking out about how you were admiring his beautiful hair and his beautiful eyes and his beautiful hands and-”

“Monster hands! Monster hands that need to see a nail salon. He probably just sticks them in his mouth and rips them off, God help me.”

“Hey! The point is, is that because you were scared about it doesn’t make those feelings go away.”

“They weren’t feelings! They were just observations that I overthought.”

“Really? Because now you’re asking where he is. And looking forlornly towards the door.”

Neptune was in fact doing both of those things. He leaned on a broom, peering past the pinkish autumn evening light and into the parking lot. Sun had stuck to his word. He hadn’t turned up at The Daily Grind since two weeks ago, the night of the race that wasn’t really a race.

Not in a million years did Neptune expect that idiot to stick to his word, and yet there he stood. Alone with Jaune. And annoyingly worried.

Neptune dropped his broom to the side and turned his gaze towards Jaune. His cheeks were puffed out in annoyance at a lock of hair that kept falling in front of his eyes.

Neptune sighed and leaned even further onto the broom if that was even possible. “Look. I’ve seen how he handles his own well-being now and I’m not really set at ease by it. I haven’t seen him at school.”

Jaune crossed his arms. “You never saw him in the first place.”

“Yeah, but the deal was that he wouldn’t visit me here. At work.” Neptune ran a hand through his hair, fixing it in the reflective side of the coffee machine. “I assumed he would’ve tried to visit me at college.”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure his exact wording was ‘I’ll leave you alone.’”

Neptune snorted, glancing over at him. “Your Sun impression is awful.”

“It’s not that bad!”

“You sound like the Green Giant.”

Jaune hit him in the arm. Neptune winced. He always forgot that under his awkward nerdy exterior, Jaune was fucking strong as hell.

“Anyway!” he huffed, giving Neptune a look. The one where he tried glaring but ended up smiling good naturedly through it. “So what if you like him? What’s the big deal?”

“He’s a dick.”

“Not really.”

“He’s straight.”

“You don’t kno-”

“He’s straight, Jaune,” Neptune said firmly.

“...Yeah,” Jaune sighed dejectedly.

“I’m not crushing on another straight guy. Not that I found him attractive in the first place. But even if I did, I’m done with straight guys. No thank you.” He said this with as much conviction as he could muster. Almost managed to convince himself.

“Neptune.” Jaune looked incredibly doubtful.

“I’m fine.”

Jaune put his hand on his shoulder in a gesture that would’ve been awkward and condescending if it had been coming from anyone else. “Dude, if you really care that much, try to find him at school tomorrow.”

“I don’t care,” he insisted, shrugging off his hand.

Jaune gave him another look. The one with his brow lowered and his hands on his hips in a move that had to be adopted from one of his sisters.

He shoved his hand into his apron pocket, his name tag attached upside down. Unintentionally, Neptune was sure. The flowers and smiley faces surrounding his name were a sure sign that at some point either Nora or Ruby Rose had gotten hold of it. Possibly both of them.

Jaune produced his phone. He swiped to messages, and cleared his throat, glancing meaningfully at Neptune.

“‘Jaune, help! I think I just thought Sun was hot!’” Out came his approximation of Neptune’s voice. It was lowered too far and sounded a little like he had a cold. He also used a surfer dude accent.

“That’s not at all what I sound li-”

“I asked ‘what happened?’ like a good friend,” Jaune continued, flicking up his eyes from the phone. “You replied: ‘I don’t know! We jumped a hill in his bright blue Mustang and I started laughing because of the panic and then I passed out and I woke up and he was right by my face. I noticed his eyes and hair and hands and stuff. It was really weird and I don’t know what’s going on.’”

Jaune stared at him. Neptune stared back. He was silent. Then, “I was really tired, obviously, that doesn’t prove anyth-”

“I said,” Jaune interrupted. Neptune closed his mouth. “‘Wow, Neptune. That’s pretty gay of you.’ You said, ‘I know.’” He looked up at Neptune again, and tilted his head.

Too smug.

“I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Jaune snorted. “You sure weren’t.”

“Jaune!”

“What?”

“Stop smiling! I am not gay for Sun Wukong!”

“But you could be.”

“Oh my God.”

“Run to him, Neptune,” Jaune declared dramatically, doing an incredible impression of Nora.

“Remind me why we’re friends?”

“I act as a restraint on your personality.”

“Yeah right.”

Neptune pinched his brow, puffing out a sigh. “Jaune, please believe me when I say that I don’t like him.”

He glanced over at Neptune with narrowed eyes, scepticism painting every line of his face. Finally, he let out a breath and rolled his eyes, slipping his phone back in his pocket. “Fine! Fine. I believe you.”

“Thank you.”

“But when you two start making out in the backroom, don’t c-”

“Jaune!”

“Fine!” He nudged Neptune away from the counter before taking up residence beside him, planting his chin in his hands. “Then why are we still staring at the door?”

“It’s… Weird,” Neptune began at a crawl. “You would expect someone like him to just come in anyway. So why isn’t he?”

“Maybe because you don’t actually know him,” Jaune posited. “You met him like a month ago, and the only words you’ve exchanged were over shitty coffee.”

“Language, Jaune!”

“I can curse! Shut up!” he exclaimed, standing bolt upright and flushing pink.

Neptune snorted. “Yeah, sure you can.”

“Besides,” Jaune sighed, plowing ahead despite the interruptions. “The only things you’ve said about him were how he was the dick frat boy stereotype. People aren’t really stereotypes, man.”

“He is.”

Jaune glared at him. “No, he’s not.” He paused. “Probably.”

“Fine,” Neptune conceded, leaning against the back wall and crossing his arms. “He still doesn’t really seem the type to hold up his end of promises.”

Jaune shrugged. “Maybe he just likes you.”

“Jaune,” Neptune said, warningly.

“In a friend way.”

“Sure.”

“I’m being serious!”

“Oaky, okay.”

“Or in another way, hypothetically speaking, who knows right?” Jaune said, smiling cheekily and jumping away to dodge Neptune’s swipe.

Or he tried to jump away. All he actually managed to do was jump to dodge the hit, cheer in triumph when he succeeded, and then promptly slip and fall onto the ground anyway. After helping his coworker to his feet, Neptune sighed and leaned back onto the wall, raking his eyes over the coffee shop.

The coffee shop was nearly empty, the air filled with the aromas of coffee beans and caramel, yet somehow it still remained stagnant. The soft bass of the coffee shop playlist pumped through speakers overhead.

The clacking of nails against laptop keys issued from Weiss’s distant corner. Calm light was streaming through the unopening glass cafe door, staining the floor with the colors of fall. He didn’t miss him. He was just bored.

As if reading his mind, Jaune’s expression softened and he said, “Dude, if you miss him-”

“I don’t miss him.” He might have responded slightly too quickly. But who was there to call him on it?

“Okay. If you’re worried about him…” Jaune amended, watching his face for any sign that he was going to get cut off. When Neptune said nothing, he plowed on. “...Just find him at school.”

“No.” No way. No freaking way was he going to voluntarily look for that idiot during the little free time he got.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want him to think we’re friends.” Neptune shrugged.

“Do you have friends?”

Neptune turned to him, expecting malintention to show up on his face. But no. It was just a gentle smile, curling blonde hair that didn’t stay put, and a smattering of freckles across his nose. A kind face. An approachable face. A face Neptune didn’t let anywhere near him for the first few months of knowing him.

“I have you,” he said, more sincerely than he thought himself capable of being.

Jaune rolled his eyes. “Besides me.”

Neptune thought for a second. Scarlet? Probably. Weiss? Less than probably. Most of the people he could maybe say he was friends with, they were really friends with Jaune. He was friendly with many, flirtatious with more, but did he really have any friends other than Jaune? “Not really,” he said finally, and more than a little sullenly.

“Yeah,” Jaune said and gave him a smile. A sad smile. Jaune wasn’t one to hide his feelings. Neptune hated pity even at the worst of times, but somehow Jaune was so genuine it made it okay. “Make some friends, dude. Please. He seems nice, and he has good intentions.”

“He does?”

“Totally. I’ve got a good sense about these things.”

“What about that Winchester dude?”

“We don’t talk about him, shut up.”

Neptune looked over at Jaune, still keeping his arms crossed. Jaune meanwhile, just looked hopeful. Like a puppy.

“Fine,” Neptune huffed and rolled his eyes. “But not for him.”

“That works for me!”

#rwby #neptune vasilias #jaune arc #sun wukong #seamonkeys #weiss schnee #nora valkyrie #ruby rose #cardin winchester #mine #my writing #writing wednesday #shouting in cafes #chapter 8 #coffee shop rwby

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stattic-writes · 5 years ago

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Consequences

https://statticscribbles.tumblr.com/post/639099629845233664/masterlist

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kamino-ink · 6 years ago

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Wounds | Lee Minho

✧ Genre: Soulmate!au, floof, lowkey suggestive, uhh lemme get some anGst

✧ Summary: You’ve always been aware that Lee Minho was your soulmate, ever since you were kids - but you were too naïve about the world and figured waiting to tell him would be a better idea. Everything starts to go downhill when he says he thinks the system is utter bullshit.

✧ Word Count: 3.7k

✧ Want to read other parts of this series? Check out my masterlist!

✧

The whole entire soulmate system was complete and utter bullshit. What kind of world were people to live in where you couldn’t choose who to love, rather the universe meticulously wrote it down in fine ink since the way you were born - nobody got a real choice. Obnoxious soulmate bonds tended to become true nuisances to most in their day to day lives, leaving little room for them to think about anything else, really. Why wait for that one person who could literally be anywhere on the fucking planet when you could find someone who you choose to fall in love with and cherish till the end of your days?

Those were the exact words that poured out between Lee Minho’s pink lips, effectively sucking the life out of you the second he started to curse the very existence of soulmates yet again.

“Dude, who put a stick up your ass this morning?” Changbin snorted from across the living room, bringing his glass of coke up to his lips and taking a long, drawn out sip with a quirked eyebrow.

You felt your world - no, your entire universe start to crumble around your very being, sat upon the couch just inches away from brushing against the resilient man’s arms that he’d sourly crossed over his chest.

“Come on Changbin, not everyone is as lucky as the rest of you fucks. For all I know my soulmate could be halfway across the world in another country. The possibility of us actually running into each other is zero to none.”

“That makes it all the more exhilarating. Imagine finally meeting the person you are literally destined to be with on like, a vacation in Paris or some shit. Now that is some quality young adult romance material.”

“Vacationing in Paris - yeah, with what fucking money?” Minho retorts sharply, dramatically waving his arms around to gesture all around his small studio apartment.

“You’re so pessimistic, Lee. Any man or woman would be attracted to a nurse-”

“Oh sure, because my paycheck is so good that I have to live in a fuckass apartment at my age - how dreamy.”

Sure, Minho liked to talk shit about his studio apartment, and you couldn’t really blame him half of the time since his home was super small compared to his friends’ places; not to mention he lived right beside an apartment housing a couple that never stopped going at it. Whatever noise complaints he had were dismissed with a lazy shrug, meaning the poor guy had to stuff his ears in the dead of night just to get some decent sleep.

But then again, he had turned the small living space into something quite nice and, obviously, livable. The walls were painted a plain white, but Minho has spiced up the place by sticking some brick wallpaper onto a couple of the walls, as well as hanging up cute little houseplants here and there, scattered about the apartment. He also had two cats who got their fur everywhere.

Not that you were complaining.

“Y/N agrees with me, right?” Minho snaps at Changbin, quickly turning all of his attention just onto you within seconds. “I mean you don’t even know what your connection to your soulmate is.”

“N-nope, still don’t know for sure. Could be anything for all I know.” You replied, your voice shaking slightly out of sheer nervousness and hurt. Minho hadn’t meant to intentionally hurt your feelings, and especially not in such a crude manner, but you couldn’t help the tugging at your heartstrings with his blunt statements.

“See? That’s my girl, always got my back.” The man coos playfully as he leans into your side, slinging an arm loosely over your shoulders from behind to pull your closer to him. “We don’t need that stupid soulmate shit, yeah? I’ll find a great man or woman to marry and you’ll do the same. We can do some cheesy stuff and go on double dates!”

You find yourself falling into a daze while weakly nodding in fake agreement with your friend, shifting your gaze so you wouldn’t have to feel the pain of making eye contact with him. While Changbin quickly snaps back at the brunette, initiating yet another argument between them with you quite literally stuck in the middle of it all, you take a moment to look down at the sleeve of your hoodie on your left arm. The material has ridden up just enough for someone to possibly spot the gauze lining your skin, but you discretely slide the sleeve down your arm again before either of the two arguing men can notice.

Minho, on the other hand, lets his bandaged wound be seen by the whole world, still donning his short-sleeved pajamas from the night before. It is in the exact same spot your wound was, decorating the skin of your left arm just under your marginally scraped elbow.

The other day you’d been mindlessly wandering around the heart of the city after meeting up with Minho for a diner date - well it technically wasn’t labeled as a date, but it still felt like one; and that was real enough for you to accept, at least. In the midst of your otherwise peaceful walk back home, two younger girls had skated by on the already narrow sidewalk, one of them accidently shoving you to the ground in an attempt to catch up to her friend who’d managed to speed ahead of her. The worst of the impact had been on your elbow and left arm, since you’d immediately tried to lessen the pain of the fall by landing on that spot - course you underestimated the roughness of the cement, leaving you with an ugly spot of missing skin and a bloodied elbow.

And of course Minho had to go through the same exact pain as you, since that was essentially your connection - or, lack for a better term, your soulmate bond. Whenever one of you injured yourself, whether it be a teensy papercut or a scrape on your leg, the other person got the same exact injury on their body in the very same place.

“- but you still know what your soulmate connection is, dumbass! Your other half is out there somewhere, fuck they’re probably wondering where the hell you are by now!”

“Well fuck them, alright!” The man beside you boomed loudly, having clearly lost any and all patience with your other friend across the room. “I get to choose who I fall in love with, and they’ll just have to suck it up and deal with it. In fact, I have a date on Thursday with a person who is not my soulmate, and she is a fantastic girl who also thinks this whole system is a bunch of horse-shit!”

That was the last straw.

You abruptly stand up from the plush gray couch, tossing Minho’s arm off of your shoulders and onto the comfy material in a rush of mixed emotions. Their voices that had been so relentless in their harsh jabs at one another suddenly converged into one stunning harmony, calling out to you in worry; one more so with confusion, the other oddly knowing. Bearing no other utterance of a goodbye, you slip on your shoes sat by the front door and hurry out of the cozy home, quietly shutting the door behind your still retreating figure.

“W-why did Y/N run out like that? Did... did I say something?”

Changbin sighed softly to himself, staring sympathetically at the empty spot on the couch next to the concerned nurse.

“She really has faith in this stuff, Minho, you should know that by now. Out of all of us, I’m pretty sure she’s the one most looking forward to being with her soulmate one day.”

“Jisung for the last time, I do not want to go to the fucking party.”

“Aww come on, Y/N! It’ll be fun, I promise!”

“No.”

“... fine, but that means you’re letting me spend the night and picking out movies to watch.”

See, that was why you liked Han Jisung so much; while the kid liked to go out and party until the sun rose above the hillside, he never tried to force you into attending one with him - he respected how you preferred to stay home on Saturdays, taking the day off to simply relax in the mindless comfort of your own home.

“Tell you what, we’ll go to the damn party-”

“Yes!”

“- but afterwards you’re paying for pizza and friend chicken. Deal?”

You also knew how much Jisung liked for you two to actually be together and hang out like the best friends you were. He often abandoned his plans just for you, so you figured doing the same for him couldn’t hurt too much.

“Deal!”

Needless to say, you had been incredibly wrong, straying so far from the truth that when it finally hit you like a ton of bricks, you quite nearly puked on the spot.

The party Jisung had managed to drag you to was a simple high school one, which meant there were underaged teenagers drinking their night away and making out with upperclassmen that would graduate in just a few months time, promptly leaving the hopeful boys and girls in their trail of dust. You weren’t at all similar to them when you were their age, instead choosing to pine after one of your male best friends that just so happened to be your soulmate - the person fate destined you to be with for the rest of your life.

Said soulmate was in the middle of shoving his sinful tongue down another woman’s throat, husky noises bubbling from between his plump, slightly bruised lips when you and the blonde senior had stumbled into a vacant bedroom to, you know, raid the shelves of video games and duke it out while the other teens fucked around downstairs.

“Minho?” His name slips past your parted lips, though it doesn’t even come close to catching his attention, nor the woman’s. Only moments ago you’d been a giggling mess, stumbling up the wooden stairs with a bubbly Jisung in excitement since he had overheard that the host let one of the guest rooms upstairs be open for anyone who felt uncomfortable or wanted to just hang out during the mess that was most certainly a stereotypical high school bash.

But now... now you can feel your already frail heart starting to shatter like glass inside your chest. Because you fucking blew it. You chose not to tell the man that you were his soulmate, and that he was yours - that you were in love with him.

Because he always spewed nonsense about disliking the entire system since you were kids, you were inclined not to speak of your bond with him at the tender ages you were at back then - besides, you were still mere children that screamed cooties when someone of the opposite gender was even affectionate towards another. Surely his opinions would diverge in the future.

Except, they never did; in anything he became even more upfront with his thoughts on the ideals of fate as time flew by, cursing and challenging the universe with every other breath he took. While his blunt words had always left a lingering sense of regret in the back of your mind, nothing could have possibly prepared you for the condemning feeling of heartbreak that rolled over your frozen figure in the doorway of the guest room.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

You can just barely make out Jisung’s snort of disapproval and disgust at the sight before the both of you, and for a fleeting moment you watch as the two moaning adults hurriedly pull back from one another’s bodies as if the other was burning like a candlestick.

“A-ah shit - um, guys, this is Ginny. She’s the girl I went out with on Thursday.” The breathless man explains, offering an awkward smile that compliments his even more embarrassed, flushing cheeks while his brown gaze darts between his two friends and his date. There’s a bit of a tent in his pants and there’s crimson lipstick smeared across his lips and neck. If you two hadn’t accidently walked in, then they would’ve taken another step further.

The mere thought of Minho, the man you had so helplessly fallen in love with, having sex with another person crushed your soul. He was his own person, yes, but you felt the selfish urge to claim him as your own because fate wrote it so. Fate destined you two to join in a loving union, and you had fallen into its deadly trap - perhaps that was why it hurt so much more than it would have, had you not fallen in love with your best friend.

So like any logical person who happened to be foolishly in love with their best friend and also happened to coincidently walk in on said best friend having a rather heated make out session with another wonderful human being, you turned tail and shot down the stairs of the house, ignoring Jisung’s call of confusion and Minho’s stunned shout for you to come back.

Yeah, as if any logical person would walk right back into the very room their best friend was so about to have sex in - what was he thinking?

“Y-Y/N, wait up!”

What was he thinking?

“Come on baby, slow down!”

What were you thinking?

“What do you want, Minho?”

Why had you chosen to fall in love with the one man that didn’t believe in soulmates?

“I - fuck, I’m sorry you had to see... that.” He goes to apologize breathlessly, as if he hadn’t just tore your heart out of your chest and stomped on it repeatedly.

“So am I.” Is all you can say in response, too afraid that any other words you might utter would seal your fate and his own; one of likely rejection or awkward silences between two people - one of which was in love with the other, the second friend only seeing the other as just that, a friend.

His bruised lips part to speak again, but you decide that you really need to split before he can unknowingly cause a mental breakdown in your head. With a swift turn on the heels of your feet, you face the other direction and begin to walk through the semi-crowded kitchen, the tips of your fingers gliding across the countertops to help steer you away from the center of the drunk crowd of teenagers.

Without warning a sharp, searing pain runs up your veins all the way to the nerves of your hand grazing the gray countertops - it takes all of your self control not to let out a yelp of pain, although a weak, befuddled whimper does escape your lips in the heat of the moment.

“Ow - what the fuck?” Minho hissed in unison with your whimper of utter pain, having started to follow close behind you in the sea of teens hovering in the already cramped kitchen area. “The fuck just cut my fingers-? Wait, are you bleeding?”

You’d been in the middle of raising your bloodied fingers to your eyes to investigate the new wounds, little cuts from a stray knife carelessly splayed on the countertop stretching across three of your five fingers when Minho directed his attention towards you downcast gaze and red fingertips.

He glanced to your wounds, and then his own.

He hadn’t been using the countertop as a guide like you had been, as his arms had been pressed firmly against his sides to prevent himself from brushing against the other partygoers.

“Is - is this your connection, Y/N?”

“Do you mean our connection, Minho? Or should I go ask the pretty redhead in the bedroom if her bond is where she can suddenly have injuries appear on her body because her clumsy soulmate never stops getting hurt?” You’re not quite sure why you’re so furious with the man, and you know that by tomorrow morning you’ll be sending him various messages of apologizes for your rash, hurtful jabs. You knew it wasn’t right, blaming him of all people - but it hurt.

“Our... connection?” He fumbles on his words, his eyes now searching yours for undying consolation - and he finds it, flashing across your now teary eyes as you stare at him.

You can recall when and where you figured out Lee Minho was your soulmate. The both of you lived in a rural town not too far from the heart of the bustling city, growing up around cattle and barrels of yellow hay rather than flashing lights and nights of blaring music in the clubs across the streets. Naturally the two of you had grown close, labelling each other as the other’s “super-duper-bestest-friend” by the ripe age of six.

Neither of you knew too much about soulmates and all that mumbo-jumbo the older kids and adults talked about pretty much 24/7, choosing to block their sweet confessions of love and endearment to one another by running around the park closest to your houses or going for a dip in the pond behind your fence.

That particular day, though, Minho had dragged you to the quaint pond filled with cute orange fish the size of your pinkies and green frogs that croaked well into the late hours of the night. He wanted to try out “fishing” by catching the orange fish with his bare hands, that of course being the first mistake that day.

You chose to simply watch the adorable black haired boy splashing away in the chilly water of the lone pond, your bottom sat upon a rounded stone a couple feet away; perhaps half an hour had passed when suddenly you felt an odd stinging sensation on the palm of your right hand, and at the same exact time you recalled hearing Minho let out a shriek of pain as he slipped his right hand out of the pond to cradle it into his chest.

But even after finding out that it was your special bond with Minho, your soulmate, you kept your connection secret all the way until now by simply stating that you weren’t sure what your bond was. You wanted to see if you could convince Minho to see that fate was written for a reason, though you never forced your ideals upon him no matter how much it stung to hear him scrutinize the deep bond between the two of you - not that he had known, obviously.

“Baby - I didn’t know, I’m so sorry.”

You cut off his apologies with a shake of your head, backing away while you now cradle your bloodied hand into your chest. “Nothing would have changed, Minho. I should have realized that so much sooner.”

And then you walk away, leaving behind your soulmate to collect his thoughts.

Sunday mornings were usually a state of calm serenity for you, since you didn’t have any classes or shifts at work. They were days that resembled healing in your eyes, especially since you really needed some good time alone after the events of the night before.

You wanted to scream and cry into a pillow all day long, in all honesty.

You’re still lying alone in bed, tucked underneath the warm layer of a fuzzy brown blanket you’d been gifted last Christmas wrapped around your body like a sushi roll when you hear the unmistakable sound of your doorbell ringing. You know damn well who it is and why they’re at your doorstep - but you didn't feel ready to face them and own up to your mistakes and critical words.

Somehow you get yourself to roll out of bed, not bothering to look all too presentable as you slowly saunter all the way to the front door where he is certain to be waiting anxiously.

I can do this, I can do this, I can-

“-Before you shut the door on me, please hear me out,” Minho pleads out to you in a rush of breath, his hands behind his back as he takes your silence into consideration, “okay I think that’s the go-ahead... Y/N, I still think people should be given the chance to fall in love with whoever they choose to,”

Did he really need to remind you?

“but I also think I like you - scratch that, I know I like you more than as a friend. I never tried to make a move on you because our views differed so greatly, and I know it was wrong of me to try and make you see my point of view in the middle of an argument. You always seemed so excited about the prospect of being with your soulmate, which I guess is technically me from what I understand, so I backed off.” He admits, occasionally having to force himself to slow down and say each word carefully so he wouldn’t be too overbearing.

“Minho - you don’t need to apologize, I do. I should have told you sooner that I knew.” You breathe out softly, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion when he vehemently shakes his head in disagreement.

“Lets just stop right there, because we could keep apologizing to each other for days and I don’t think these poor things will live that long without fresh water.”

“What-?”

“Ta-da! Flowers for the lovely light of my life,” he hums cheerfully, bringing out a small but beautiful bouquet of flowers from behind his back to told them out in front of his face, peeking out form behind them with red cheeks and a nervous smile, “I um, I hope this isn’t too cheesy. I’m kinda hoping that you might give me a chance and go on a date with me-”

“Of course I will, cheesehead - here, let me put these in a vase and we can discuss where we’ll be going on our date.”

✧

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